


All That Glitters

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Burlesque AU, Comedy, F/F, Fluff, Hackle, HubbleStar, Romance, and a few other surprise ships, it's lesbian shakespeare ok, lespeare?, shakesbian?, smut will probably find its way in here too, tropey af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:57:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: It's been fifty years since The Extraordinary Esper Vespertilio's Midnight Music Hall opened its doors. As part of the anniversary celebration, the performers whose careers began under Esper's guidance return to take part in a burlesque extravaganza. Sparks fly when personalities converge, and several universal truths about love and life are brought to the fore: all's fair in love and war, all that glitters isn't gold, and all's well that ends well.Be ye warned: a totally tropey Shakespearean comedy style AU for wlw.





	1. Act 1, Scene 1: Glitter, Glitter, Everywhere.

If, fifty-seven years ago, you had told Algernon Rowan-Webb that the majority of his life would be spent fighting a losing battle against trying to clean a stage floor of glitter, he probably would have laughed you right out of town.

But love can make a man do strange things.

Which is exactly why, for the last fifty years, the majority of his life has been spent fighting a losing battle against trying to clean a stage floor of glitter. Not that he tried that hard, these days. Around year five of said battle, he admitted a mitigated defeat. That was the fundamental truth of glitter: it lasted forever, and it stayed where it damn well pleased for just as long.

Still, he swept down the boards of the stage nearly every evening, often whistling a merry tune. They had boys to do that, now, but he usually sent them to vacuum the runners between the sections of velvet-clad seats in the theatre, or to clean the front reception after all the patrons had left for the evening. For whatever reason, he’d come to enjoy the few moments of quiet as he pushed the broom across the polished floor.

It reminded him of the early days. Being barely twenty-one and begging for a job, any job, in this very theatre. Granted, it wasn’t his work ethic that had inspired such desperation.

It was Esper. Esper Vespertilio, the Vixen with a Voice. He’d visited the theatre for a night out with his friends and had been instantly smitten by the vivacious blonde with a set of vocals that could charm the stars from the sky. After the show, most of the performers came into the reception hall to mingle and chat. He’d been audaciously brave enough to approach Esper, whose sharp snark and warm smile completely confirmed that he was, in fact, beyond saving.

He’d returned the next night. Afterwards, Esper had merely arched a brow when she saw him again in reception. _Mr. Rowan-Webb, should I be concerned?_

He had assured her that he meant no harm. Then she'd smirked and told him to prove it—by going out dancing with her that very night. And that night, he’d realized that Gwen Bat—the woman behind the persona of Esper—was a thousand times more wonderful. The rest had been history. Happy, wonderful history.

He'd gotten a job working in the cabaret, eventually, allowing him more time with his sweetheart. He learned to work the lights and to rig the backdrops for each show. He cheered Esper's performances and listened to her ideas for new numbers and costume designs.

Esper was invited to Berlin, and despite the heartache, he sent her off with a smile and a promise to visit soon. Two months in Berlin turned into twelve months touring Europe. Algernon spent his time working, though he had to admit, the cabaret lost its shine without one star in particular. By the time Esper returned, they’d both saved up a nice bit of money.

 _I only want two things_ , she’d told him, once she was happily back home. _To spend the rest of my life with you, and to spend the rest of my life doing this. Everything else can be left to chance._

It was a simple request. He couldn’t refuse her, even if he’d tried.

It had taken a few extra years, but they’d managed to buy this very club, the place where they’d met, where Esper Vespertilio had gotten her start. The rest was history. Happy, wonderful history.

And so here he was, sweeping the floor that he owned, knowing full well that it was an exercise in futility and happy as could be in his lot.

One of the stagehands took a seat at the old upright piano in the corner, hands flying easily across the keys. The theatre, which had been built for live music a hundred years ago, reverberated with the sound, the air becoming rich and full.

Gwen appeared in the wings—yes, she was simply _Gwen_ right now, out of the heavy makeup that she wore as Esper, dressed comfortably in a simple dress and flats, hair still in a meticulous updo because taking it down was a half-hour endeavor. She held out her hands and moved towards him.

“Dance with me, love.”

He set aside the broom and whisked her around the stage.

“Oi! You two are the worst employees!” A familiar voice caused them both to laugh. They turned to see Julie Hubble at the foot of the stage, her own face set in a grin.

Algernon didn’t stop dancing, but he maneuvered them closer to the edge, so they could talk to Julie as they danced.

Julie understood, because she gave them a rundown of the evening, “All cleaned up for the night, the girls have all gone home. Based on pre-sales, we’re expecting another full house tomorrow.”

“Thank goodness—as much as we spent on advertising for this show, we’ll need full houses every night for a month to recover,” Gwen piped up.

Julie gave a good-natured roll of her eyes, “I’ve told you, it’s an investment. Once we get a regular crowd in here again, it’ll pay for itself. Just give it time.”

Gwen merely gave a long-suffering sigh, and Julie smirked in response, turning on her heel. With a wave over her shoulder, she called back, “You can thank me later, Miss Vespertilio. Until tomorrow, goodnight!”

There was a chorus of calls as everyone wished Julie Hubble a good night. Gwen watched the younger woman go with a smile. Algernon knew that his wife saw a lot of herself in Julie—truth be told, so did he. They’d never wanted children, but Algernon often thought that if they’d been parents, they would have had a daughter who’d turned out much like Julie. At least he hoped so.

The stagehand on the piano eventually stopped playing and the rest of the crew headed home. The Rowan-Webbs turned out the last of the lights and made their way through the quiet, darkened reception area, the thick carpet swallowing their footsteps and lending an abandoned air to the late night calm.

As usual, Gwen gave one last look over her shoulder as she opened the front door, smiling in soft satisfaction. Algernon did as well, feeling a measure of pride for how long and how well they’d taken care of this place.

His gaze went to the six-foot portrait of Esper Vespertilio herself, a painted poster for one of her biggest shows. He saw the date listed on the poster and remembered, yet again, that this year would mark the fiftieth anniversary since they’d signed the papers and made this venue their own.

“Fifty years,” he said quietly.

Gwen hummed in agreement.

“We should celebrate. Have a blowout of a show.”

“We should,” Gwen agreed, as they slipped outside. She locked the door and double-checked by pushing against the gilded handle.

Algernon mulled over the thought that had been rambling around in his head for nearly a week now before taking the plunge, “Would you let me plan the celebration?”

Gwen looked surprised at this. It wasn’t that Algernon had never planned any shows—in fact, he’d been an equal partner in planning most events since they’d bought the theatre—but that he seemed so hesitant in asking. “Algie, of course.”

His smile was like the sun. He leaned in to give her a quick peck on the forehead. “It’ll be the grandest thing this town has ever seen. Just like the extraordinary Esper Vespertilio.”

She laughed at this, looping her arm through his as they made their way home. She began to hum a little tune and he joined in, still not entirely sure that somehow the last half century hadn’t been some long, grand dream, but certain that if it was, he never wanted to wake.

* * *

Mildred’s latest art project was an anime remake of an old Esper Vespertilio show poster. Julie Hubble couldn’t help but smile at the way her daughter set out all her drawing supplies around her in a half-circle, balancing the sketchpad on her lap as she sat in front of the poster, occasionally glancing up to check a detail. An eleven-year-old girl with color pencils looked out of place in the plush foyer of the burlesque theatre, but it was a common sight for Julie—and one that she adored more than she could express.

With one last ruffle of Millie’s hair, Julie headed to her office. It was late morning; no one else would darken the doorway until evening, when cast and crew arrived for the night’s performance.

The mahogany door marked _Manager_ in gilded script opened easily on silent hinges. Julie smiled to herself. There was something comforting about knowing that everything worked like a well-oiled machine—and knowing that it worked because of her, because of the care she took in her job, the pride she found in ensuring this place was always at its best and brightest.

It wasn’t about the theatre, not really. It was about Algie and Gwen. Julie Hubble had shown up nearly fifteen years ago to fill a bartender position at the theatre’s in-house bar. She’d quickly proven herself to be snarky and cool under fire, with a smile that kept the tip jar full and the patrons at ease. And when Algie had seen how easily she managed a line of numbers, he’d been so impressed that he asked her to consider eventually taking over his position as manager for the entire theatre, once he decided to retire.

At the time, it had simply been a nice job offer. Over the years, she fell absolutely in love with Algie and Gwen, who became more of a family to her than her own biological one. And when she’d gotten knocked up with Millie—well, they’d stood by her side and helped her in any way that they could, without any judgment or snark. They were Millie’s godparents, and basically her grandparents. And Julie’s daughter loved them just as deeply as they loved her.

So Julie put her heart and soul into her work. She kept this place looking as pristine as it had been when it opened under new management fifty years ago. She made sure the talent was top-notch, the crew were well-paid and well-trained, and that The Extraordinary Esper Vespertilio’s Midnight Music Hall was always held in high regard throughout the industry. It was her way of paying back all the care they’d taken with her over the years, of ensuring their golden years were spent enjoying life and knowing that their legacy was in good hands.

She slid into her desk chair and booted up her computer, glancing through the pile of sticky-notes she’d left for herself over the week. Saturdays were catch-up days. With a new show opening last night, it had been a whirlwind week.

She lost herself in her work for nearly an hour before there was a knock on her open door. She looked up to see Algie standing there, wearing his usual smile.

“Hullo, you,” she sat back in her seat and swiveled to face him fully. “You’re in early for a Saturday.”

He conceded that fact with a slight wave of his hand, moving into the office and pulling up a chair. “I needed to get you alone for a few minutes, to enlist your help.”

Julie perked up. Algie set a cinnamon bun on her desk, wrapped in a napkin. Julie knew he’d already given one to Millie on his way in. Gwen always sent him with extra breakfast pastries.

“So we’re coming up on our fiftieth anniversary—”

“Right, in September,” Julie nodded, gingerly unwrapping the bun and taking a bite. Mentally she counted the months—just over four months away.

“Right, and anyways, I decided that I would plan something grand, to celebrate.”

“Excellent idea.”

“Well, I was thinking—this is the theatre were Esper got her start, long before we bought it. And since then, there have been quite a few performers who got their break on this very stage as well. So I thought—maybe, we bring them all back.”

“All of them?”

“Well, most of ‘em. The highlights, as it were. Like a reunion.”

Julie took another bite, using her time to chew as she considered the idea. “It’s doable, but, Algie—some of those acts are still performing today, and their fees are gonna be a lot higher than they were when they played here.”

“Understandably. That’s a bit of the point—to remind the burlesque world how much it owes to Esper.”

“Excellent point to make,” Julie nodded in agreement. She glanced over at her computer again. “Gimme some time to make a list, maybe?”

“Actually,” Algie shifted in his seat, pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “I’ve gone and done it already. These are the acts and performers that were big draws, back when they were here. And if I’m honest, these are the ones that Gwen was proudest of.”

Julie took the list in her non-cinnamon-bun-filled hand and scanned the names. “Alright. Makes my job a lot easier.”

“Well….” Algie gave a slight grimace, and Julie fixed him with a keener gaze. “There is at least one act that isn’t performing anymore. And it may not be the easiest to bring back.”

With a small smile, he confessed, “I was hoping you could turn on the old Bubbly Hubbly charm and convince ‘em to come out of retirement. For one weekend only.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a long stare. Not that it affected him in the least—he knew she’d try, for Gwen, for him, for them.

“No promises, sir.”

“None expected,” he held up his hands in a defenseless gesture.

Julie turned back to her computer. So much for playing catch-up—now it was time to play sleuth and track down a bunch of old show girls.

“Heaven help me, Algie—you’d better know how much I love you,” she murmured, half to herself. Without even glancing over, she could feel his grin.

* * *

At two o’clock on a Monday afternoon, the Amethyst Dance Academy was usually quiet. Classes wouldn’t begin for another hour, and soon the foyer would be filled with toddlers and their parents, slowing shifting to groups of older and older children until the final eight o’clock class, which was all teens.

But on this particular Monday afternoon, the halls echoed with sounds that came right out of a caricature of hell. Whiplash upon whiplash snapped and fizzled, varying in intensity. Thankfully the rest of the staff were aware of what was going on—so there would be no raised eyebrows when the two founders of the dance academy disappeared into the back rehearsal room and started using whips. Though there still were plenty of jokes to be made, to be sure.

“It’s all in the wrist. The _wrist_ , Hecate.” Dimity set her hands on her hips and watched the woman try again. “Honestly a lesbian with your track record should know—”

The sharp crack of a bullwhip interrupted what was going to be a rather clever comment on her part, if she did say so herself. “Oi! You stepped all over my punchline!”

“Vulgarity is no substitute for wit,” Hecate informed her in a prim tone, which Dimity knew was mainly for show.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” Dimity shot back. “I can easily possess both. Dichotomies are for idiots, remember?”

Hecate hummed in agreement, taking a moment to reset her posture and try again. She focused on keeping the movement confined from elbow to wrist as she brought the bullwhip back and snapped it forward. There was a sizzling swish and a satisfying crack at the end.

“Perfection,” Dimity decreed. Hecate didn’t completely stop the small smile from leaking into the corners of her mouth. She repeated the movements several more times, and once she was fairly certain that she had it down, Dimity set up a row of water bottles.

Hecate focused her aim and snapped them down one by one, taking a small beat between each strike. Dimity didn’t say anything, but her pleased beam was enough.

“Shall we try the cigar?” Dimity asked, once the last water bottle was sent flying.

Hecate’s smile dissipated. “I’m not sure—”

“You’ve been working up to this for weeks. Your aim is impeccable—”

“No, no, it’s not—I quite clearly hit that third bottle on the side, when I was aiming for the center.” Hecate stood a little straighter, tightening her grip around the whip’s stiff handle. And it wasn’t an excuse—she genuinely wanted an extremely accurate aim before she attempted the next level.

“Fine,” Dimity held her hands up in surrender. “Your call.”

Hecate merely ducked her head in silent thanks. The door to the rehearsal room creaked open and both women turned to see a smiling face and a set of honey-blonde curls.

“Hullo,” the stranger beamed even more brightly. “I’m just—”

“Sorry, love, classes don’t begin til three,” Dimity moved towards the door, ready to usher her back down the hall. Parents generally weren’t allowed to roam the academy at-will. She would have to remind the receptionist of that. This must be a new parent—she certainly would have remembered seeing a face like that before.

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Clearly _you_ don’t understand,” Hecate shot back, easily slipping into her ballet mistress tone. “The notice at the front door says guests are not to come past the foyer. This is a dance studio, not a zoo.”

“I’m here to book you,” the stranger blurted out, obviously frustrated with her treatment.

Dimity and Hecate stopped for a full beat.

The stranger fully stepped into the room, smoothing her hands down the front of her tunic top. “Sorry. Not the best introduction. I’m Julie Hubble. I manage The Extraordinary Esper Vespertilio’s Midnight Music Hall.”

Julie saw the way both women softened at Esper’s name. She felt a small measure of victory. She continued, “This year is the fiftieth anniversary of Esper buying the theatre. And we’ve decided to celebrate by bringing back some of the acts.”

“Including us,” Hecate finished.

“Yes, of course.” Julie nodded with a smile. She glanced at both women, for the first time mentally comparing the headshots and promotional photos she’d seen with the faces in front of her. They looked different, without all the makeup and stage lights and photo filters. They were literally two women in yoga pants, looking as ordinary as could be. And right now, they looked hesitant. With an extra measure of sunny smiling, Julie added, “We couldn’t celebrate the best of Esper without the Star of the Sky and Miss Blanche Flambée.”

“We’re in,” Dimity Drill nodded.

“When is it?” Hecate Hardbroom asked, at the same time.

Julie gave them the date. She felt her stomach clench as the two women exchanged uneasy glances.

“That’s like three weeks before Berlin,” Dimity said quietly. “I mean, it’s doable, right?”

Hecate considered the question. With a slow, singular nod, she agreed.

Julie felt a rush of victory. She quickly gave them the details for next week, when the various performers would meet and go over the show line-up, as well as iron out rehearsal schedules and the rota for dressing rooms and rehearsal rooms.

Once she was gone, Dimity turned to look at Hecate, who was watching her with a familiar expression. “Hey, don’t gimme that look—you agreed to it, just as much as I did.”

“Yes, well, we were a bit put on the spot, weren’t we?” Hecate turned and moved away, back to the center of the room. “It would have been rude to refuse her to her face.”

“Since when have you ever given a flying fuck about being rude?”

Hecate smirked at this, shaking her head lightly as she placed her feet firmly in position and began her whip work again.

“She was cute, wasn’t she?” Dimity looked back at the closed door.

“Dimity, no.”

“It’s a perfectly innocent—”

“Nothing with you is innocent,” Hecate decreed. She gave a sharp snap of the whip to accentuate her point. With a pleased smile, she drawled, “Or perfect.”

“Oh, Hardbottom’s got jokes now, has she?”

Hecate made a petulant face at the moniker. Dimity continued, completely unfazed, “Look, some of us know beauty when we see it, and some of us like to truly _appreciate_ that beauty—”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Hecate returned dryly. “Netflix and appreciating beauty?”

Dimity couldn’t help but laugh at the comparison. Still, she wouldn’t be swayed, “And she had a very lovely aura.”

Hecate stopped to allow a full body groan, her face turning to the heavens as her eyes rolled in disdain.

“I know you don’t believe in all that touchy-feely woo-woo stuff,” Dimity conceded. “But it’s true—some people just…radiate. They make you wanna lean in.”

“I don’t think it’s her _aura_  into which you wish to _lean_ ,” Hecate returned, arching her brow as she fixed her friend with a particularly pointed look.

Dimity merely flashed a winning grin. “I can multitask, HB.”

This earned her another groan. Hecate walked over to collect the water bottles, lining them up again, “You will forever be a mystery to me, Miss Drill. I’ll never understand the impulse to immediately charge head-first—”

“Ah, you just haven’t met the right gal,” Dimity informed her.

“And how is it that you meet the right girl, every week?” Hecate turned back to her, amusement still written in her features. “A _different_ right girl, might I point out for the record.”

“Is it my fault that I just have overpowering sexual chemistry?” Dimity held her hands out in mock innocence. “Am I to blame for the women who fall head over heels—”

“After you rather abruptly push them—”

“I resent that remark, Hecate Hardbroom. I’m nothing if not chivalrous.”

Hecate had to concede the point. It was true, most bafflingly so—Dimity Drill could charm any woman she met, regardless of sexual orientation or relationship status. The woman’s hapless victims didn’t need coaxing, once she flashed her megawatt smile. Every notch in her belt had practically carved themselves in there.

“You are chivalrous,” Hecate admitted. She sent the whip snapping, hitting a water bottle. “If not also a bit foolhardy in your pursuit of love.”

“Love is what makes the world go ‘round.”

“Fairly certain it’s actually a gravitation pull from the Sun and—”

“And this is why you’re single,” Dimity informed her flatly. Hecate couldn’t help but smirk at her friend’s air of frustration. In the early days, they had fought constantly, their personalities not well-suited at all. Now snark was the love language of their friendship. Most of it was feigned, but even when the exasperation or frustration was true, it was always tinged with affection.

Hecate sent another water bottle flying with a flick of the bull whip.

“One day, HB, one day,” Dimity kept her tone droll and deep, as if intoning a prophecy. “You will fall in love and all your cynicism will come back to bite you in the ass.”

Her only response was another crack of the whip.

* * *

Julie Hubble tried to school her expression as she watched Pippa Pentangle dump yet another packet of sugar into her coffee. The woman had already turned the brew light beige with creamer and had sunk at least four spoonfuls of sugar into it as well.

Pippa looked up and smiled knowingly.

“I like coffee when I can’t actually _taste_ the coffee,” she admitted, leaning in with a conspiratorial air. Julie couldn’t help but return the warm smile.

“So,” Pippa shifted back in her seat again, giving her cuppa a lazy stir. “Who else is on the list?”

Pippa Pentangle had been rather easy to track down, considering the fact that she hadn’t been on the burlesque scene in twenty-five years. She was a voice instructor, both at a local girls’ school and as a private in-home vocal coach. Still, she’d been wary when Julie had called. Pippa adored Gwen and would gladly be part of a celebration honoring the woman, but she had her reasons for hesitating. So far, she had agreed to meet Julie in a local café, to fully deconstruct the offer on the table.

Julie Hubble pulled a slip of paper from her back pocket and handed it over. Pippa’s brown eyes quickly scanned the list. She’d been prepared to see the name staring back at her, but she still felt a flicker of anxiety.

“And…Hecate Hardbroom knows that I’ve been asked to join as well?” She looked back up at Julie, eyebrows lifting questioningly.

Julie frowned, “Well, not precisely. She knows there will be other performers from—”

“Are you aware of our mutual history?” Pippa pushed the list back across the café table. Given Julie’s puzzled expression, she guessed the answer was no.

“I know you were in The Hipsnotic Sisters,” Julie began. The Hipsnotic Sisters had broken up twenty-five years ago—Pippa, better known as Pipsy Marie at the time, hadn’t continued her burlesque career after that. Hecate Hardbroom, who’d been Hipsy Hardbottom, had reappeared on the scene a few years later with an entirely different stage name and a new skill set to match—Miss Blanche Flambée, fire fan dancer. There had been a third Hipsnotic sister, Bipsy Boop, but Julie hadn’t been able to track her down at all. “And I know you split up. But that’s it.”

Pippa gave a small hum of confirmation. “It wasn’t a delicate parting of ways. Hecate thought—she accused me of trying to sabotage her career.”

“What did you do?”

Pippa looked out the window, brow furrowing in consternation. “The very first time she did a solo number, she used her fire fans. Bipsy and I were backstage watching—we were going to do a number, all three of us together, that night as well. We had never seen the number before that night. Hecate had been very secretive about it all. And I didn’t—it was stupid, I should have known that she’d planned for everything, meticulous little thing that she was—but I didn’t know at the time. Her skirt caught fire.”

Julie’s eyes were the size of saucers.

Pippa gave a wry smile, “That was my reaction too. I grabbed the fire extinguisher from backstage and hosed her down. Afterwards I learned that the skirt catching fire was supposed to happen. It was this special material, some kind of flame-retardant blend that would burn itself out.”

She took a sip of her over-sweetened coffee. “Never really forgave me for that one.”

Julie wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say now. Thankfully Pippa stepped in for her, “I want to come back and do a show, for Esper. But perhaps The Hipsnotic Sisters should just be two instead of three.”

“About that,” Julie frowned at the list in front of her. “I’ve tried looking for Bipsy Boop—Clair Martens. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.”

Pippa made a small noise of understanding, “Clair is her middle name—she always thought her first name was too stuffy, but she went back to it after the troupe broke up. And she married ages ago, so her last name’s changed as well. But I know where to find her. In fact, it might be better if I handle her—if you don’t mind, of course.”

“No, I’d love the help,” Julie admitted. “I still have Miss Merry Gold and the Nightshades to track down. And I’m waiting to hear back from the Twins.”

“It’ll be quite the feat, if you’re able to get them all to say yes,” Pippa grinned. She rose to her feet, slipping her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her coffee. “I’ll let you know what Bipsy says.”

“Thanks,” Julie beamed back. They said their goodbyes and Pippa hurried out into the street, checking the time. She had two hours before her next appointment—she could reach out to Bipsy now, get it over with.

She scrolled through her contacts, found the one labelled _Ursula Hallow_ , and pushed the call button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hecate's line of "vulgarity is no excuse for wit" is an iconic burn by the Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey. And a nice little nod to Raquel's filmography ;)


	2. Act 1, Scene 2: In the Cards

The strap was stuck. Ada Cackle realized this a bit too late—the delicate ribbon of her slip strap didn’t immediately break away, as it was designed to do. She didn’t let the surprise register on her face, keeping her usual serene smile as she continued with the choreography. At least the other strap had worked—currently one breast, encased in a glittering bralet, was on display. She could easily make this look intentional.

She cut a glance at Agatha, her twin sister who was also on stage. Agatha’s blue eyes, so much like Ada’s, quickly flitted to the strap, and her eyebrows lifted slightly in recognition. Ada felt a measure of relief—Agatha would fix the problem, that much she knew.

It was far from their first on-stage wardrobe malfunction. You didn’t last thirty-plus years in this business without some kind of small catastrophes happening from time to time. Neither woman missed a beat in their song as Agatha easily maneuvered behind Ada, grabbing the short hem of her full slip and giving it a quick, hard tug. Ada practically popped out of the garment as it fell to the floor. She played the wide-eyed surprise bit—after all, she was always the innocent to Agatha’s more sultry bad girl ways. The resounding cheers and whistles from the audience assured her that it played well.

With a dainty side-step, she moved out of the way and gave the slip a light kick to the wings of the stage. The rest of the number continued without a hiccup, and soon she and Agatha, both much less clad than before, were giving petite curtsies and sashaying off-stage.

“Holy hell, Gullet, what happened?” Agatha asked, once they were off stage and further in the wings.

Geraldine Gullet, their costumer and manager, was already inspecting the slip, frowning as she tried to get the clasp to unfasten. “I dunno. Hard to tell, as you ripped it to shreds with your little tug of war act.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ada piped up. “We made it work and no one knew a thing.”

Agatha hummed in agreement. Gullet turned on her heel and clipped her way back to the dressing room, still preoccupied with figuring out what went wrong.

The stage manager walked by, not even glancing up from her clipboard as she handed Agatha and Ada their robes—a subtle way of telling them to clear the wings so there would be room for the next performers in the line-up. The robes were, like everything else in their routine, exact opposites: black silk trimmed in baby pink lace for Agatha, pink silk trimmed in black lace for Ada.

The stage kitten handed them the rest of their garments from the striptease with a breathless smile. Agatha thanked her in French, and the girl blushed in return. Ada tried not to roll her eyes. The Monte Carlo cabaret scene had been good to them, financially—and good to Agatha, romantically. Well, perhaps _romance_ was the wrong label for what Agatha got up to, when the stage lights went down for the night.

Ada followed her sister through the maze of stairways and hallways, back to their private dressing room that was filled with flowers and feathers. Gullet was already seated, pulling out her sewing kit to repair the damage to the slip. Agatha took the seat next to her, turning to face her vanity mirror. She took a sheet of rice paper and delicately dabbed away the sheen of sweat before applying another layer of powder.

Ada tightened the sash of her robe and took a seat at her own vanity. They were done for the night, save final curtain call, which was four numbers away. She picked up her cellphone, idly scrolling through notifications.

“By the way,” Gullet spoke up, still-half distracted by her mending. “Got a call this afternoon from Esper Vespertilio—well, the gal managing her theatre now, anyways. They want you two to come back as part of some grand fiftieth anniversary celebration.”

Agatha’s light sigh at the proclamation made her feelings on the matter plain.

Ada felt a smile spread across her face. “Really? Sounds wonderful.”

“Good. Because I plan to tell them yes, in the morning,” Gullet replied. “We haven’t done London in ages; it’d be good to remind people there that you two exist.”

Agatha gave a slight harrumph at that. “As if they could forget.”

“Burlesque is big again,” Gullet reminded her. “Dozens of new names on the scene now. Easier to get lost in the shuffle—especially since there’s a whole new wave of audiences.”

“When?” Agatha asked.

“September.”

Agatha swore under her breath. Ada tamped down a smile. September and October were usually their off-months, and Agatha had been planning a return to Spain. They were currently in Monaco, but during their performance run in Barcelona, Agatha had fallen in love with the city and had sworn she’d be back as soon as possible. The fact that the city also contained a tall raven-haired vixen who had spent more than a few nights in Agatha’s hotel room probably had something to do with that decision.

“It’s not ideal timing,” Gullet conceded. “But it is what it is and you owe quite a lot to Miss Vespertilio—”

“Funny, I don’t remember her bestowing talents upon me,” Agatha intoned dryly, reapplying her lipstick.

“She gave you a stage and a start,” Gullet shot back easily. “You can be snarky about it all you like, but your talent would still be confined to Saturday night karaoke if you hadn’t auditioned for Esper’s chorus line.”

Agatha merely hummed—whether in reluctant agreement or disdainful dismissal, Ada wasn’t sure. It didn’t really matter. Agatha would go to London, no matter how much she sniped or complained. Because she knew just as well as Ada that they owed it to Esper.

A flutter of commotion in the hallway caught Ada’s attention—a flock of chorus girls in headpieces and bustles hurried by. That meant ten minutes until curtain call. Ada rose to her feet and went to the costume rack, finding the pieces for her final costume piece. Gullet booted up the hand-held steamer for the cocktail dresses the twins would wear for the reception afterwards.

Ada felt a measure of relief. This was their final week in Monaco. Then back to Paris, which felt homey and familiar, after twenty years.

Agatha was on her feet as well, shucking off her robe with little ceremony. Without hesitation, Gullet reached out and gently readjusted the edge of Agatha’s garter belt. Agatha made a little noise of thanks and Gullet went back to repairing the slip.

Not for the first time, Ada wondered how those two hadn’t ended up in bed together. It wasn’t like Agatha to leave a stone unturned. Though Ada supposed that Agatha was wise enough not to ruin a good thing—Agatha had a habit of ending affairs on a disastrous note, and Gullet was the best manager they’d had, and a fantastic costume designer to boot. For five years now, she’d been a constant in their lives, and the twins had admitted more than once how lost they’d be without her.

Ada made a point to say thank you, yet again, to Gullet as she and Agatha hurried out the dressing room for final curtain. Gullet merely waved her on, not even looking up from the dress she was steaming.

This evening’s audience was particularly boisterous, and Ada couldn’t help but beam at the cheers and applause. Yes, Gullet was right—they owed so much to Esper Vespertilio, for giving them a life that Ada couldn’t imagine living without.

* * *

If Ursula Hallow had to diagram exactly how she fucked up, she’d have to start with the fact that she had answered the phone in the first place. She’d seen Pippa Pentangle’s name on her screen, and she had somehow known that it wasn’t about her daughters’ voice lessons. Mainly because all correspondence about the girls’ lessons was consigned to email, and was rather limited. The nanny spoke to Pippa when she was here, and gave any relevant updates to Ursula. There wasn’t much need for anything else.

The next step in this flow chart of fuckery would be the moment that she actually agreed to let Pippa stop by her house. In no way did she ever want to spend time with that woman outside the strictly necessary. But that was Pippa’s strength, she supposed. The woman could convince the sun to leave the sky, if she wanted to.

Ursula had already said no to the idea of a Hipsnotic Sisters reunion. Yet she was still opening her front door for Pippa, still giving the woman a chance to change her mind. Had she fallen lately? Hit her head and forgotten about it? Slammed a kitchen cupboard door into her temple and reset her logic, to allow such a stupid thing to happen?

Forgotten fall or not, Pippa Pentangle was standing on her doorstep, beaming at her in that warm and sugary way that was somehow both dangerous and endearing.

Adding yet another step in the diagram, Ursula opened the door wider and motioned for Pippa to enter. “Miss Pentangle. A delight, as always.”

Pippa graciously ignored the obvious sarcasm. She knew she’d already won, and she tried to be magnanimous in victory. Also, she still had to get Ursula to admit defeat, even if they both knew it had already occurred.

“Mrs. Hallow, thank you so much for allowing me a moment of your valuable time,” Pippa kept her smile absolutely saccharine.

Ursula cleared her throat rather pointedly. Then she turned and led the way to her private office, all heavy oak and oppressive darkly-rich colors. Pippa wondered how the woman could even breathe in such a space.

The door was firmly shut and locked before Ursula turned back to Pippa. “The girls are due home in a half hour, and I’m not having them barge in on this…discussion.”

Pippa fought back a laugh. The woman was acting as if it were some vile assignation, some source of shame, instead of a simple question among…friends? Former colleagues? She supposed there wasn’t really a name for what they were now.

Her amusement did nothing to soften Ursula’s disposition. The younger woman became even pricklier, moving around to sit behind her desk. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I agreed to let you come here. The answer is and will always be no.”

“But why?” Pippa was genuinely confused.

“It’s been a quarter of a century, Pippa,” Ursula pointed out. “That part of my life is over and done with—”

“There’s no reason to bury it completely—”

“And what exactly do you expect me do to? Bring my whole family along to watch Mummy bare it all onstage?”

Pippa stopped, still perplexed. Yes, the Hipsnotic routines had included a little strip tease, but for the most part, it was belly dancing. Compared to some acts, they’d been relatively tame. “Ursula…there was nothing shameful in what we did.”

“I didn’t say there was,” Ursula retorted. “I’m just saying there’s no need to revisit it now. I have no desire to rekindle the connection to that part of my life.”

“Really?” Pippa couldn’t stop the rise in her chest, the need to challenge an obvious lie. “Then why exactly are you _still_ connected to that part of your life? You have me giving your daughters voice lessons. You have them enrolled at Hecate’s dance academy. Why even keep any contact with us at all—”

“That has nothing to do with our connection. I simply want the very best for my girls.” Ursula flinched as she realized the compliment that she’d just paid her former troupe members. Pippa smirked at the slip up. Again, this didn’t help Ursula’s disposition. She rose to her feet again, clipping across the carpet to unlock and open the door in an unmistakable sign of dismissal. “You tried, Pippa. But it looks as if it will just be you and Hecate on this one. Best of luck with that.”

“Actually, I don’t expect Hecate to be involved,” Pippa admitted. “I mean, she’s going to be part of the event—but not as a Hipsnotic Sister.”

Ursula’s eyes went wide with shock. “Then I really don’t understand why you’re here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pippa still hadn’t moved towards the door. She wasn’t leaving until she was good and ready—or until Ursula physically hauled her out.

Ursula’s mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “Pippa, from day one, it was always you and Hecate. You two were a package deal, even back in our chorus days. I was there simply because trios were big at the time and Esper wanted a redhead.”

Pippa had actually forgotten that bit. Ursula was a blonde now, but at that time she’d dyed her hair a lovely ruby color—and it had been a perfect complement to Pippa’s blonde and Hecate’s jet-black locks. “That’s not entirely true. You were a good dancer—”

“Pippa, I assure you, my self-esteem is fully intact,” Ursula cut her off coolly. “But I’m also able to look back and see things as they were. We were quite literally sisters in name only. I was with you for rehearsals, performances, and receptions. We didn’t go to the movies, or sleep on each other’s couches after a long night of bar hopping, or celebrate our birthdays together, or go out for coffee.”

That was a dig at the friendship Hecate and Pippa used to share, Pippa knew. For the first time, she realized how excluded Ursula had been from that.

“We worked together,” Ursula continued. “Nothing more.”

There was truth in that statement, Pippa had to admit. Still, she wasn’t one to give in so easily. “Perhaps. But I’m asking you now to work together again. If not for me, then for Esper.”

Ursula’s mouth twitched at the blatant attempt in guilt-tripping.

“Look, Algie put together a list of the performers that Esper remembered the most fondly,” Pippa took a small step forward, as if physically closing the distance between them could also bridge the emotional gap. “We were on that list. _All_ of us. Regardless of how you might feel about me or Hecate, surely you wouldn’t begrudge the woman.”

Ursula looked down at the floor for a beat. Then, with a sigh, she looked back up and said, “Pippa Pentangle, will you please get the hell out?”

* * *

Miss Merry Gold was so excited about her invitation that Julie had to physically hold the phone at arm’s length.

“Of course I would love to join!” The woman effused, still squealing in delight. “Esper is such a love, I’d do anything for her! Oh, and Algie, too, of course—how are they, by the way?”

“They’re quite well, thank you,” Julie gingerly brought the phone back to her ear. “They’ll be over the moon when I tell them that you’ve said yes.”

Another shriek of joy caused Julie to flinch. She ended the call as quickly as possible, intent on saving her hearing. With a sigh, she looked up to see Mavis Spellbody standing in the doorway of her office, wearing an amused smile.

“Was that Merry?” She guessed. Noting Julie’s surprise, she added, “The woman’s always been…bubbly.”

“Not the word I’d go with, but sure.”

Mavis laughed softly. Then, with a grand flourish, she set a small stack of papers on Julie’s desk. “Designs for the anniversary show. I’ll need you and Algie to give the go-ahead on them as soon as possible so that I can order supplies.”

Julie delicately rifled through the sketches, nodding in approval. Mavis had taken over her mother’s position as the theatre’s costume designer, and her skill never ceased to amaze.

“I’ll run ‘em by Algie, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine with whatever you choose,” Julie admitted. And though Mavis gave a small smile of agreement, they both knew it was more about the principle of the thing—it was a nod of respect, taking the time to make sure Algie saw the designs and officially approved them. The man had earned it.

“How goes the list?” Mavis switched subjects, motioning towards Julie’s computer.

“So far, so good.” Julie knocked on the wooden surface on her desk for good measure. “Natty Nightshade’s Jazz Band will play at the reception afterwards, and he’ll accompany Narcissus on piano while she sings some of Esper’s old hits.”

Nathaniel Nightshade had gotten his start in this theatre as well, first working as an usher and quickly moving up as an emcee and gentleman juggler. He’d fallen for Narcissus, a chorus girl who soon became the vocalist for his jazz ensemble. Both had a flair for theatrics and talent to back it up, and soon they were whisked away from the music hall to play the rounds of London society. But they’d never forgotten the start they’d owed to Esper—they’d been thrilled at the thought of helping the woman celebrate such a long and successful career in show business.

“Lovely,” Mavis decreed. “We saw them perform at the supper club on 17th, once. Absolute best.”

Julie smiled in agreement. She’d heard some of their songs—Algie liked to play them during crew days, when sets were being built or torn down—and she had to admit, the energy and showmanship was palpable, even through just the audio.

“Anyone said no yet?” Mavis asked.

Julie shook her head. “I’m still waiting on replies from a few, but so far, no one’s officially declined.”

“Fingers crossed,” Mavis repeated the gesture.

“Fingers crossed,” Julie echoed. She pushed her chair away from her desk. “I’m going to pick up the girls from school. Be back soon.”

Mavis merely hummed in understanding, turning on her heel and heading back to her workshop. Julie grabbed the stack of designs and set them on Algie’s desk in the next room. Then she hurried out the door.

Her phone dinged with a notification—an email from a G. Gullet, confirming that Addie and Aggie, the Twins, had officially accepted the invitation to partake in the anniversary show.

Julie pumped her fist in victory.

It was almost too good to be true.

* * *

“Esme, keep your feet off the floor!” Hecate raised her voice to be heard over the piano, punctuating each word with a clap in-time with the music.

Esme Hallow pushed herself, _five-six-seven-eight, balanc_ _é, balanc_ _é, pli_ _é, pas de bourrée, run, run, saut de chat._ She landed in position and glanced back at the ballet mistress, whose barely perceptible tilt of her head relayed her approval. Esme quickly circled back around the edge of the room, avoiding the rest of the girls who danced across the floor in groups of two and three. A glance at the clock informed her that it was nearly nine o’clock, which meant this was Miss Hardbroom’s last allegro of the evening.

Sure enough, once the last group of girls landed their saut de chats, the piano trailed off and Miss Hardbroom announced the dismissal of class. As usual, she left the rehearsal room without another word, propping the door open for the girls before heading to the academy foyer.

Hecate was surprised to see Ursula Hallow waiting in the reception area with several other parents. The other parents were expected—but Mrs. Hallow’s nanny usually picked up Esme from her classes.

Something in Ursula’s expression when she saw Hecate immediately put the ballet mistress on-edge. Hecate’s uneasiness only grew as she made her way to her office and felt the distinct shift of someone following her.

“I need a moment of your time,” Ursula announced. Hecate turned back slowly, not quite sure she wanted to grant such a request. Sensing her hesitancy, Ursula added, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

That was exactly what made Hecate so uneasy. Still, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk, silently inviting Ursula to sit.

“It’s about the Esper anniversary show,” Ursula dove in. She wanted this over and done with, as soon as possible. She saw the way Hecate’s shoulders hitched in shock and she took another deep breath, plowing onward, “Pippa approached me this afternoon. Apparently they want The Hipsnotic Sisters to reunite. Or…at least me and Pippa. I’m assuming you’ll be busy with your own numbers.”

The accusation was easy to find in her tone, but Hecate had learned long ago to ignore the younger woman’s barbs. Feigning a nonchalance she certainly didn’t feel, she finally spoke, “And?”

Now Ursula seemed slightly flustered. “Well, I want to know how you feel—about being around…us, again.”

Hecate took a full beat to truly consider the question. She clasped her hands in front of her and finally said, “I don’t feel anything, I suppose. The Hipsnotic Sisters were once a very big draw for the music hall; it makes sense that they would be invited to return.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” Ursula admitted. “I’m not sure that I will, to be honest.”

Hecate didn’t ask, merely cocking her head to the side in curiosity. Her dark eyes were scrutinizing Ursula's features—the blonde understood that the woman couldn’t imagine saying no. Of course not. Hecate Hardbroom was a proper yes girl who also adored a good bit of adoration. Ursula briefly wondered if Hecate had changed at all in the past thirty years, or if she was still a woman who lived her life by the motto of _look, but don’t touch_. Her money was on the latter.

But then again, they’d never wanted the same things. Hecate wanted attention without interaction; Ursula had wanted stability and security. After The Hipsnotic Sisters literally went up in flames, Ursula had known she wasn’t cut out for solo work and made her way into the real world. A quick switch back to her first name to further distance herself from her burlesque days and a boyfriend-turned-husband who gave her a new surname and the added prestige of being a barrister’s wife, and before she knew it, she was solidly planted in a lovely Georgian townhouse in an upperclass neighborhood with all the respect and respectability she could desire. She was fairly certain that if Hecate Hardbroom had a personal vision of hell, it would look remarkably similar to Ursula Hallow’s current life.

“I don’t see a need to…relive my youth, like some pathetic character in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel,” Ursula sniffed, feeling a bit defensive without really knowing why.

“Then don’t,” Hecate offered simply. With a wave of her expressive hand, she gestured to the door. The rest of the message was loud and clear: _carry your ass, bitch._

“Pippa doesn’t feel the same,” Ursula added, squaring her shoulders and watching Hecate’s reaction like a hawk.

No reaction. Not what she’d expected.

“She plans on performing,” Ursula kept needling. “With or without me.”

Hecate simply looked at the woman seated across from her. Ursula had always been a hard one to pin down—or maybe simply Hecate had never tried to pin her down. She’d never been overly friendly with Hecate and Pippa, but that had never bothered Hecate, who wasn’t overly friendly with most people anyways. Hecate had been surprised when ten years ago, Ursula had enrolled her eldest daughter Esme in ballet lessons at the academy. She’d never asked the woman why, but she’d also never really felt a need to. They were neither friends nor enemies. They simply were.

Which made this entire visit all the more baffling. What did Ursula want? For Hecate to still be upset over an incident that had happened twenty-five years ago? Did she want Hecate to rage and slam her fists on the desk, demanding that the other Hipsnotic sisters not perform? Did she want Hecate’s blessing to join the performance? Did she want some kind of…confession, or apology for how things ended all those years ago?

Favoring a direct approach, Hecate simply asked, “What do you want, Mrs. Hallow?”

Ursula blinked, as if surprised by the question. “I want…you to know. We all know how badly you deal with surprises.”

Another barb about Hecate’s reaction to being hosed down by the fire extinguisher. Hecate didn’t outright roll her eyes, but she did let them flick heavenward, just for a second. It was the only way she didn’t end up physically growling at the woman.

“Well,” Hecate rose to her full height. She saw the way Ursula’s gaze raked over her form, the disdain evident behind those blue eyes. “I do so appreciate your attempts to keep me informed of current events.”

No snarky sarcasm, but no genuine gratitude either. Her voice was as flat and unaffected as if she were reading the stock market stats for the day.

Ursula really shouldn’t have expected any more or less. Hecate had always been like a cat, as aloof as possible. How Pippa Pentangle had ever been able to get close enough to form an actual friendship was an absolute mystery.

In truth, Ursula Hallow wasn’t sure what she’d expected from this encounter—she wasn’t even sure what she had wanted to happen. She rose to her feet as well, taking a small measure of satisfaction in the way Hecate’s hands flexed and rippled in response (at least she knew she had _some_ effect on the woman, even if she had no damn clue what that effect was).

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Like Hecate, she didn’t actually put any warmth or sincerity behind her words as she left the office.

Hecate didn’t wish her well in return. Not that she’d expected her to.

* * *

Nights like this were the worst, Ada decided. The two glasses of wine she’d had at the reception hadn’t done enough to fully dissipate the leftover stage nerves, and she was still wide awake at three o’clock in the morning.

The witching hour, her grandmother used to call it. She could understand why—it seemed like anything, good or bad, was possible. The air hovered between the staleness of a long night and the freshness of a brand new morning.

In the beginning, she would stay up all night, talking with Agatha. They’d go over the mistakes they’d made or the particularly wonderful moments they’d had on stage, making plans for the next show, the next big thing. They’d laugh over something a patron had said or roll their eyes over that far-too-eager gentleman who'd insisted on buying another round of drinks. They’d talk about the future, but very rarely the past—it was better to forget, they’d learned.

But over the years, the debriefings had stopped. They started making enough money to afford separate rooms, and as soon as that happened, Agatha made it her mission to fill her bed with a different woman nearly every show. Not that Ada blamed her. There had never been enough love and attention to go around in their childhood, and Agatha had always walked away with the lesser share—she seemed to spend her adulthood making up for the deficit. A rotating cast of lovers, a personality that enveloped an entire room, an uncanny ability to turn every ounce of attention onto herself.

Sometimes it was stifling, being the other half to Agatha’s flamboyant ways. Always being put in the role of the rule-follower, of the good girl, of the calm and collected quiet voice of reason in the chaos of Agatha’s storm. Most of the time, Ada was able to sweep her feelings of frustration under the rug. After all, it wasn’t Agatha’s fault that she’d turned out this way. And it wasn’t done in malice. Ada needed to be there, to balance Agatha, to keep her safe, to show her the true meaning of unconditional love. And what was more unconditional than accepting Agatha as she was, no stipulations, no demands for change?

Ada slid off the still-made hotel bed with a sigh. It was getting late and she was getting melancholic again. It happened, sometimes. Exhaustion had that effect on her. If she was lucky, she could turn the melancholy into introspection.

It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for, due to the state of her suitcase, which resembled some form of a natural disaster zone—she pulled out the little velvet bag containing her tarot cards with a sense of triumph. She settled back onto the bed and removed the deck from its bag. She tried to focus her mind as she shuffled the cards, tried to pin down the unacknowledged question dancing at the edges of her mind.

_What do you want, Ada?_

_I don’t know. I want…this, my life, as it is now. I love so much of it._

_Then why are you feeling so adrift right now?_

Ada stopped shuffling to consider the question. She’d been dealing with this feeling for months now, this thing without proper name or classification. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, she even considered that maybe it was time to retire—a thought brought back to the fore by the upcoming celebration of Esper’s career.

Maybe she _was_ getting too old for this. She honestly wasn’t sure anymore. She still loved performing and loved the lifestyle if gave her, but there was a feeling of…missing. What was missing or how was still a mystery, but the feeling lingered and grew, in the moments when she was alone at her flat in Paris, or on nights like these when the overwhelming silence in her hotel room almost made her ears ring.

Sometimes, she thought she knew why—she had a wonderful life, but no one to share it with, not in the way that she truly wanted it to be shared, not in a way that left space for little moments of gentle mundanity and romance. Given her current lifestyle, it was hard to imagine finding someone who could keep up with the odd pace or understand the demands and stressors of her career. Add in the uniqueness of her career field, and the number of candidates open-minded enough to embrace her passion for striptease dropped as well. It just didn’t seem like a possibility, at the moment.

But changing her entire life didn’t seem like a possibility, either.

She gave another light sigh. Perhaps she could learn to be like Agatha, have a brief romance in every city she visited, be happy with her lot and keep moving.

Maybe that was the question: should she manage her expectations, tailor her hopes and dreams to something smaller, something more feasible? Should she hold out hope at all costs?

With a small nod of decision, Ada closed her eyes and pulled her cards. She chose the simple three card spread: past, present, and future.

 _Past: Nine of Pentacles_. She had been pleased with her lot in life, satisfied with her success and filled with the self-discipline necessary to maintain it.

 _Present: The Tower_. Lightning-quick change and chaos from the upheaval was happening, even if she didn’t fully see it yet. Ada felt a slight stirring of unease—not necessarily a bad omen, but the idea of unexpected change was immediately met with wariness. Also, she wasn’t sure what it was referencing, as nothing seemed to have changed in her life recently. The feeling of overlooking something important sent a tremor of worry through her gut. With a deep breath, she turned over her last card.

 _Future: The Empress_. A symbol of security and abundance, a blessing to creative projects and harmonious home life. Ada released the breath she’d held unknowingly.

So things would change, perhaps in a chaotic and hectic way, but in the end, she’d be alright. Ada held up the card, taking a moment to study the Empress’ features. Intense gaze, squared shoulders, a sense of command that seemed to sear through the card itself.

Ada laughed softly at her flight of fancy, shaking her head as she shuffled the cards back into the deck. Still, her heart gently turned over the predictions, wondering exactly what they meant.

She wasn’t sure her original question had been answered. If change was coming, did it mean that she would have to change her expectations for love and life? If it would all end on a good note, did it mean that she’d get everything she’d wanted, even if it wasn’t in the way she’d expected?

In this moment, she realized two fundamental truths about herself: she was a romantic, and an eternal optimist. Nothing could ever change her capacity to always hope for more, to hope for the best, to hope beyond all reason. There would be no managing of expectations, no accepting a fate of anything less than what she wanted and needed in her life. She just had to trust that everything would work out for her highest good, despite whatever bumps and road blocks might appear along the way.

So, true to her nature, Ada Cackle clutched that hope to her heart and looked to the future with a smile.


	3. Act 1, Scene 3: All Good Things

Algernon Rowan-Webb took another sip of his tea as he waited for his wife’s response. They were currently on the settee, Algie seated at one end with Gwen stretched across, her feet in his lap as she glanced through Mavis Spellbody’s design sketches.

“Oh,” Gwen spoke quietly, half to herself. “She even got the one from the show in Amsterdam.”

Algie hummed in agreement. Mavis had designed the chorus girls’ outfits as recreations of Esper Vespertilio’s costumes over the years, with slight revisions. Algie had thought it was an inspired idea, another nice little nod to Esper’s career that most people probably wouldn’t recognize. But it was part of why Mavis was so good at what she did—she brought meaning and intent into her designs. Even if those meanings and intents were often going to be overlooked completely, it didn’t stop her level of dedication to her vision.

“That’s just lovely,” Gwen decreed, her voice warm with admiration. She set the last of the sketches on her lap and lightly tapped Algie’s chest with her toe. “What about the girls? Are they all coming back?”

 _The girls_. Most of the women on her list were solidly in the middle-aged category now, but to Gwen, they would always be her girls.

“Still waiting to hear back from Bipsy and Pipsy,” Algie admitted.

Gwen hummed in amusement. “Why am I not surprised.”

Algie merely grinned as well, taking a sip of his tea. After a beat, Gwen added, “Do you think they’ll finally unpack all the…tension from the old days?”

“I dunno,” Algie squinted as he considered the question. The two had entertained so many theories about the odd dynamics of The Hipsnotic Sisters, back in the day. Bipsy Boop had always been the dark horse, the undefinable factor that could influence the situation in any number of ways—though in the end, she hadn’t been involved in the group’s breakup. To this day, they still weren’t sure if she had internally sided with Pippa or Hecate. Shifting the conversation only slightly, he added, “But Pippa wants it to happen, so….”

He didn’t finish the rest. Gwen’s wry chuckle informed him that she knew exactly what he meant. It may have been a quarter of century since they’d dealt with Pippa Pentangle, but her determination and persistence were still fresh in their memories.

“Well that should be interesting,” Gwen decreed. Her husband had to agree. With a wry shake of her head, she smiled, “Oh, to be a fly on that wall.”

* * *

Ursula was on her way home from walking Sybil, her youngest daughter, to school. She stopped three houses down, not quite sure she was really seeing the sight ahead of her.

Pippa Pentangle was on her front doorstep, chatting away with her husband. Her heart stopped for a full beat, stomach clenching in dread—though she wasn’t entirely sure why she felt such a visceral reaction. She hadn’t lied when she told Pippa that she didn’t feel ashamed of their past as burlesque performers. But she’d never mentioned it to her husband, for whatever reason, and after four years of dating followed by twenty years of marriage, it seemed like a thing that simply wouldn’t be shared.

Ursula doubled her pace, trying not to look too concerned as she approached. Pippa turned and met her with a sunny smile, “There you are!”

“What are you doing here?” Ursula was still too shocked to attempt politesse.

Pippa didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t you remember? It’s our monthly progress meeting on the girls’ vocal lessons.”

Yes, of course. Mr. Hallow knew Pippa as their daughters’ vocal coach. Pippa had offered a plausible excuse—but it was purely an excuse. They’d never had a progress meeting in all the years that the girls had been taking lessons.

Still, Ursula took the lifeline offered, “Oh, goodness, I forgot that was today. Yes, please, come in.”

Ursula’s husband stepped back, giving Ursula a quick peck on the cheek as she came through before excusing himself to get ready for work. The two women went into Ursula’s study, where once again the door was closed and locked.

“You’re really going to start giving people the wrong idea with the locked door,” Pippa commented dryly. She felt a measure of satisfaction in the way that Ursula’s cheeks pinked at the suggestion. This time, Ursula stayed at the door (she didn’t expect Pippa to stay long, then).

“I would ask what the hell you’re doing here, but I already have a pretty good idea—”

“Good to see your logic is still in-tact,” Pippa returned. “And I won’t sugar-coat it. I want to give Esper the show she deserves. That includes us. Both of us.”

“Pippa, I have a life. I have children, and a husband, and a dozen other things—”

“What’s this really about?” Pippa cut in, cocking her head to one side in curiosity. Not a single excuse Ursula had given so far rang true.

The younger woman seemed at a loss to answer the question. “I’m—I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Is this about age?” Pippa took a moment to scrutinize the woman’s figure. It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and Ursula was already in a skirt and twinset. She was probably the best-dressed mum at school run. Yes, twenty-five years and three children had added weight, but in all the right places. “You still look quite fit—”

“It’s not that,” Ursula interjected quickly, her face reddening again. She hadn’t even considered the fact that agreeing to do the show would involve actually having parts of her body on display that hadn’t been seen by audiences in ages—until now.

“Then what is it?” Pippa set her hands on her hips. “Are you afraid of being recognized? Of some kind of…scandal?”

“No,” Ursula shook her head. She couldn’t imagine any of her friends or acquaintances now being the type to frequent a cabaret.

“Then _what_?” Pippa’s chest tightened in frustration. Looking back, maybe Ursula had always been this oppositional, but it was just more lost in the mix because of Hecate’s presence and personality. As far as Pippa could remember, though, Ursula had always gone with the flow. None of this seemed to make sense.

To be honest, Ursula didn’t have a definitive reason either. She just felt a pull to say no, when she knew Pippa wanted her to say yes.

She glanced up to see the irritation lining Pippa’s face. Her mind scrambled to find an answer, to find _any_ answer.

But Pippa had never been a patient thing. She pressed onward, this time her voice much quieter, tinged with something small and hurting, “Is it…because it’s just me, and not Hecate?”

Something in Pippa’s tone caused Ursula’s lungs to tighten.

Pippa moved closer, though it was evident that her target wasn’t Ursula, but rather the door behind her. She stopped in front of Ursula, the hurt in her expression blindingly evident.

“I have spent too much time apologizing for that,” she kept her tone low and even. “It was a mistake, but I didn’t mean—”

“It isn’t that,” Ursula blurted out, her throat suddenly tight and aching for some strange reason. “It was never that, Pippa. And I—I never blamed you. Never. I just…”

She lost her train of thought, too caught up in watching the way Pippa’s expression changed from defiance to confusion.

“You just?” Pippa prompted.

“I don’t know,” Ursula admitted, forcing herself to look away. She physically felt the way Pippa sighed in frustration as the older woman brushed past. The door unlocked, opened, and closed again. Ursula was alone once more.

It was true. Ursula didn’t know. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she moved to her desk chair—moving away from the direction she wanted to go, out the door, after Pippa. She wanted to call her back, to apologize. But she didn’t know what to say—and Pippa deserved an answer, a real answer. Ursula sank further into the soft leather as she tried to sort out what exactly had been happening over the past two days.

She’d said no, but had let Pippa come over after the phone call. She’d said no again, but had still let Pippa come into her office this morning to try convincing her  yet again. And the whole time, she hadn’t really wanted to say no at all—she’d done it simply because it wasn’t the answer that Pippa wanted. But why? She didn’t really want Pippa to leave, didn’t want Pippa to stop convincing her…what the hell was wrong with her?

She thought back to the night before, visiting Hecate at the ballet studio. How unfulfilling Hecate’s response had been.

With a flash of insight, she thought of her own daughters. She’d seen this with Ethel, her middle child—Ethel would do anything to be noticed, to be remembered and seen. Was she simply holding out because it got attention? For the first time since the inception of The Hipsnotic Sisters, Ursula’s opinions and objections meant something, couldn’t be overruled or completely ignored. Hecate had shown no concern, hadn’t seemed to care what Ursula chose, was that why she’d been so unsatisfied with last night’s visit? And Pippa—well, she certainly was invested in Ursula’s decision, was trying her best to influence it in her favor. So was that why Ursula was acting this way? To get as much attention as possible?

She sighed and rubbed her forehead vigorously. She needed to call her therapist. She hadn’t been in months and it was evident that she needed professional help in sorting out her own actions.

She was being petty and petulant, that much she knew. And it wasn’t fair to Pippa—because she _did_ want to say yes, and now her refusal was bringing up old wounds for Pippa. Ursula had been absolutely honest when she’d said that she didn’t blame Pippa for what had happened. After all, Hecate hadn’t warned them about the skirt. Apparently she had told the stage manager, who had told the stage crew as well—but no one had told Pippa and she’d been too quick to save her friend, getting the fire extinguisher and hosing Hecate down before anyone could stop her.

Whatever this was, it had to stop. Ursula sighed and looked up at the ceiling. She was going to hate this next part, but it had to be done.

* * *

Julie was busy managing alcohol orders for the in-house bar when the phone at her desk rang. She answered with a quick, “Esper Vespertilio’s, Julie speaking.”

“Oh, hi.” The voice sounded familiar. “It’s Dimity Drill.”

“Ah. Foxie Moxie herself,” Julie grinned. While Dimity Drill was better known as the Star of the Sky these days, due to her aerial stunts, her actual stage name was Miss Foxie Moxie. “What can I do for you, Miss Drill?”

“I was just making sure you’d received our contracts?” Miss Drill sounded unsure.

“Yes, of course,” Julie returned easily. She’d emailed contracts to Miss Drill and Miss Hardbroom, who had both sent back signed copies that same day. Because they were both performers with dangerous acts (fire and heights), they'd also submitted their personal insurance proofs and signed various waivers as well.

“Oh, good.” Miss Drill hesitated, as if she were going to say something else.

“Is there anything else you need?” Julie asked, keeping her voice cordial.

“No, I guess not. I just—I just wanted to make sure. HB is a bit of stickler about details and she’s been hounding me to double-check.”

Julie grinned at the image—based on the two minutes she’d spent in Hecate Hardbroom’s presence, she could definitely see that. “Well, you can tell her to rest assured that it’s all in hand. And you’ll both be at the planning meeting this week?”

“Yes, absolutely. See ya then.”

* * *

Dimity ended her call to Julie and walked back into her dining room, where Hecate was seated at the table, pretending to look over the potential dance class schedule for the upcoming fall term. One glance at Hecate’s amused expression revealed that the woman had heard everything—Dimity had made a point of going into the hallway so that HB _wouldn’t_ hear her.

Maybe she wouldn’t comment on it. Dimity prayed for a miracle.

“That certainly lacked your usual finesse.” Hecate noted, not even glancing up as she marked out another class slot.

No miracles for Dimity, then. “Zip it, woman.”

“Just an observation.” Dimity could hear the smirk in her friend’s tone. After a beat, Hecate added, “Aren’t you going to allay my fears about our contracts safely navigating the interwebs to their intended destination?”

Dimity really should have gone into another room and shut the door entirely before making that phone call.

“I hear that I was _most_ upset about it.”

Ye gods and little fishes, the woman really wasn’t going to let this one go.

“I hate you,” Dimity informed her, taking a seat at the table again.

Hecate merely hummed in warm amusement. Thankfully she didn’t offer any more snarky comments. Dimity double-checked the calendar on her phone, making sure the planning meeting was on her schedule.

“I don’t want to tell you how to live your life,” Hecate spoke again, her voice soft and filled with feigned boredom (a sign that she truly worried about what she was trying to say, Dimity knew by now). “Mainly because you wouldn’t listen. But perhaps you should wait to pursue Miss Hubble until after the show closes. Just in case.”

Dimity understood the rest: _just in case it ends badly_. And she understood that HB was trying to protect her, to shield her from having to deal with a breakup in a work situation.

“It’s a bit of harmless flirting,” Dimity assured her.

Now Hecate looked up, her face lined with incredulity. “ _That_ was not flirting, Drill. That was _flustered_.”

“Oi, I don’t critique your game, keep your rather distinguished nose out of mine.”

Hecate rolled her eyes and made a gesture as if to say, _Have it your way, but don’t say I didn’t warn you._

Still, it irked Dimity that her friend had a point. She adored women and was known for being a rather enthusiastic personality—but she generally remained smooth and unruffled while charming. It was a bit of a game to her, and she liked to win. If a woman wasn’t interested, she moved on, no hard feelings. If a woman was interested, then they enjoyed a few weeks of fun. The cards were always on the table and everyone involved was aware that whatever happened had a very short shelf life. Dimity prided herself on the fact that for the past seven years, she’d never had a bad breakup. Or really a breakup at all—they just drifted apart, quite naturally.

When it came to approaching women, she didn’t get flustered—because she never cared enough to worry about a potential outcome.

Except she _had_ gotten flustered, five minutes ago. All because of Julie Hubble. Truth be told, Dimity’s brain had been playing that adorable smile on repeat, and remembering the little spark that jolted in her chest the first time she’d truly made eye contact with the woman.

 _It’s just an infatuation_ , Dimity told herself. Of course, Dimity had been infatuated with other women, in the past. She had projected desirable traits onto them, because she’d barely known them and therefore they seemed like a blank slate. But usually her daydreams were wrecked by the reality of actually getting to know the woman in question.

Which meant the only cure was to spend more time around Julie Hubble. To burst the bubble, of course. Dimity glanced at the calendar again. Three more days. Then she’d spend more than two seconds around Julie, realize she wasn’t the girl of her dreams, and move along. Or maybe she’d tumble into a fun little fling and find herself cured of obsession that way—within a few weeks, they’d part ways, romantically, and Dimity Drill would be back to her usual hijinks, no hang-ups over cute little curly-haired blondes included.

Easy peasy.

* * *

Pippa Pentangle was by no means a coward, but part of her had wanted to cancel this week’s lessons with the Hallow girls. Just yesterday morning, she’d had the odd, awkward conversation with Ursula in her study, and it felt too unfinished, too soon to be going back into that house. She comforted herself with knowing that she most likely wouldn’t see Ursula—after all, she didn’t most lesson days.

She was a professional. She could behave like one, too.

Still, she felt a measure of relief when Andrea, the nanny, answered the door with her usual smile. Ursula seemed gone, as usual. Pippa’s anxiety continued to ease as she spent her first half hour with little Sybil, then the next with Ethel, and then last thirty minutes with Esme. The girls had a vocal competition next month, so it was easy to get lost in focusing on every note of their chosen pieces.

Pippa saw the brief flicker of Esme’s gaze, the sudden shift in the girl’s posture. Pippa glanced over her shoulder to see Ursula leaning against the door frame, watching them with an unreadable expression.

Ursula’s body tensed at Pippa’s attention, but she didn’t offer anything else. Pippa turned back to Esme and continued with the lesson, feeling odd knowing that Ursula was still there, still watching. By the time the lesson ended, it felt as if it was all too soon while simultaneously having taken forever.

Pippa gave a few last pointers, and offered a cheery farewell until next week. When she turned to the doorway again, Ursula was gone. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed.

Whatever the feeling was, it disappeared when she entered the hallway and saw Ursula waiting by the front door.

“I'll do it,” Ursula said quietly, once Pippa was closer. She fidgeted with her necklace and looked down at the floor.

Pippa felt a pang of regret. She realized that, despite the fact that Ursula’s reasons may have seemed false or incomprehensible, there was still a chance that she _genuinely_ didn’t want to perform. “Ursula, if you don’t want to do this, then you shouldn’t. I won’t be upset. I realize I can be a bit overzealous—”

“You absolutely can be,” Ursula agreed, looking up to meet Pippa’s gaze. “But don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re convincing enough to make me do anything that I don’t want to do.”

Pippa stopped for a moment, then let the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile.

There was one last thing Ursula needed to add, “And I’m sorry, that I made you think—that I brought up old feelings. It was never about that.”

“And whatever it was about…you’re OK with it now?” Pippa’s voice was gentle, but still searching. Her natural sense of curiosity was screaming to know what had caused Ursula’s initial hesitation, but over the past few days she’d been quite vividly reminded of how distant they really were. It felt like too much of a breach, to accept Ursula’s apology and then step back over a line into something Ursula obviously didn’t want to discuss.

Ursula gave a small, quick nod and pushed herself to smile. “Completely.”

Pippa reached out, setting her hands on Ursula’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. She was beaming now. “I’ll let them know. And then there’s a meeting next week—”

A small commotion from down the hall grabbed Ursula’s attention. She quickly assured Pippa, “Yes, just—later. Call me later.”

Pippa nodded, smiled, and wished her a pleasant evening as she slipped out the front door. When Ursula turned back around, her husband was in the hallway, arm wrapped around Esme’s shoulders.

“Everything alright?” He asked, his tone as unaffected and pleasant as always.

“Yes,” Ursula smiled back. Perhaps it was actually better than alright, she decided.

* * *

Julie Hubble felt a swell of happiness as she surveyed the room. The theatre had two rehearsal rooms, each dubbed _the big room_ and _the small room_ (based on size, of course). She had taken over the small room with a long table and folding chairs. Currently, those chairs were filled with most of the anniversary show’s incoming talent, Mavis Spellbody, the Rowan-Webbs, and the in-house chorus mistress, a wee blonde whip of a thing named Beni who, in Julie’s opinion, might actually have been a Yorkshire Terrier in a human body, based on her inexhaustible energy and enthusiasm.

The only talent who hadn’t been able to attend were the Twins (still on tour in Monaco), Miss Merry Gold (currently at a competition in Las Vegas), and Bipsy Boop of The Hipsnotic Sisters, whom Julie now knew went by the name Ursula Hallow these days.  But the Twins and Miss Merry had sent their rehearsal scheduling requirements to Julie beforehand, so that she could find a way to fit them into the rotation. Pippa Pentangle was there to speak on behalf of The Hipsnotic Sisters—Julie had anticipated some slight cattiness or at least coolness between Pippa and Hecate, but so far, they’d been fine. Granted, they didn’t really speak or look at each other, but Julie was learning quickly that Hecate Hardbroom didn’t seem to interact with most people in general. The woman had arrived, said her hellos to Gwen and Algie, and then had taken a seat and spent the next ten minutes staring at her phone, body language clearly screaming _leave me the fuck alone_.

As if they were a comedy duo, Dimity Drill was Miss Hardbroom’s polar opposite. Warmly chatting away with everyone at the table, telling jokes and laughing at others in a great booming way that made Julie grin in response. Half the time Julie hadn’t even heard the joke itself—she just couldn’t help the way Dimity’s reaction made her react in turn. The woman was joy personified, absolutely infectious.

“Alright,” Julie held her hands up and raised her voice to gain attention. “Now, we have two rehearsal rooms, as you can see. On the days that we do not have a show—or for anyone wanting rehearsal times before three o’clock in the afternoon—you will also be welcome to use the stage for rehearsal purposes as well. We have six main acts, along with several numbers by our own girls. And, of course, we will have some special numbers by the lady herself.”

Julie motioned to Gwen, who smiled in response. She’d entered the room like the belle of the ball this morning, greeted warmly by the rest of the group. Nathaniel Nightshade had scooped her up into such a vigorous hug that Julie had feared the old woman’s bones might break, but Gwen had merely laughed.

“That puts us at two acts, each with thirteen numbers—including the opening and the finale,” Julie slipped on her reading glasses as she glanced down at the list. Algie had worked like a mad-man with Beni, narrowing down the amount of numbers and hammering out a rough show outline in time for the meeting. “Obviously, that’s a lot of rehearsing. And for the opening and finale, we’ll need everyone.”

Gods above, this meeting was supposed to help cure Dimity of her inexplicably deep attraction to Julie Hubble. She ducked her head as scanned down the piece of paper in front of her. It was the rehearsal rota for the theatre—a few slots were already filled for the in-house performers, but most of it was open for people to fill in. She had to focus, to stop staring at the woman. Julie speaking in an authoritative tone and putting on her glasses certainly hadn’t helped.

Thankfully the chorus mistress took over for a few minutes, explaining the basic highlights of the opening and closing numbers. Dimity couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance at the head of the table, where Julie sat, nodding in agreement with whatever was being said as she made some notes on her clipboard. Her hair was even more gloriously untamed than the last time they’d met, and Dimity’s fingers itched at the thought of getting lost in those curls.

Her daydream was cut short by the sound of HB’s voice, coming from the seat beside her. “We will not be requiring rehearsal space, as we have our own.”

Julie looked up at the announcement, only glancing at HB in passing before turning her attention to Dimity. Thank every star in the heavens, Dimity was able to nod along and seem like something less than a total fool. However she felt a pang of regret—wouldn’t it be lovely to be rehearsing here, just a few meters away from the woman currently at the head of the table? To have so many chances to…oh-so-accidentally run into her, start up a chat, make her flash that lovely darling smile again?

Julie’s attention shifted as others started offering their own schedules and constraints. Within half an hour, they’d ironed out a workable schedule for all involved, and everyone seem relatively satisfied with it.

“Last order of business,” Julie glanced down at her notes. “In the next week or so, we want to film a quick promo piece to advertise the show. We’ll also have a photographer here, so we can get shots to send to all the local publications and a few burlesque sites as well. It’s not mandatory, obviously, but we’d love to have as many familiar faces involved as possible.”

The soft rumble of voices rose as people began discussing and comparing availability. A date was set and a roster of available performers was created as well. With nothing left to discuss, Julie dismissed the meeting.

Dimity made sure to say goodbye to Algie and Gwen, giving them another set of hugs. It had been nearly twenty years since she’d gotten her start at Esper Vespertilio’s, but she still owed them so much. They’d been the ones to direct her to a local dance academy when she was looking for a full-time job outside the performer's life—that was where she met HB, and within a few years, they were starting a dance studio of their own. And for all her faults and failings, HB had been a solid co-founder and a good friend. Her best friend, if she were being honest—a friend she wouldn’t have, if not for Algie and Gwen, in a weird way.

Of course, the fact that going over to speak to the Rowan-Webbs put her standing next to Julie Hubble wasn’t even a consideration for her actions. Not in the least.

“I’m so excited you’re doing the promo,” Julie admitted with a wide grin. Her hand rested lightly on Dimity’s back as she added, “I can’t wait to see the Star of the Sky in action.”

Dimity tried not to imagine that quote out of context, really, she did.

“I can’t remember how many shows I spent in the wings, holding my breath and waiting for you to break your neck,” Gwen confessed with a smile. Dimity laughed—she had always been a bit of a daredevil, and some of her stunts on the trapeze hoop or the aerial silks were definitely a bit death-defying. But it made for good theatre and she loved hearing the crowd gasp in shock.

 Julie laughed as well, and Dimity lost her battle in attempting not to outright stare at the woman. Mavis Spellbody came up to ask Julie a question, and Dimity realized that she had nothing left to discuss with anyone in the room. Tamping down a swell of disappointment, she made her farewells and headed for the door.

Hecate had said her goodbyes to Algie and Gwen already, and was currently being cornered by Narcissus Nightshade at the doorway. Having attended plenty of functions with HB in the past, Dimity was well aware of the mild look of _dear-god-make-this-end_ on her friend’s face. It wasn’t that Hecate was anti-social, per se—it was just that social situations were anxiety-inducing, and anxiety was exhausting. Dimity understood this. And they’d already been here for nearly an hour, so Hecate was wearing thin. These types of situations were the worst, Dimity knew. Smaller group, with enough industry professionals to make Hecate’s imposter syndrome raise its ugly head and whisper things about how everyone in the room was judging her, finding her lacking in talent and skill.

Plus Pippa Pentangle was here. An interesting addition, but she wasn’t sure how well Hecate was really handling it. Mostly because having Pippa here only reminded everyone else of the most humiliating moment in Hecate’s career. It wasn’t mentioned, but based on a few raised eyebrows, it was obvious that it didn’t have to be.

So Dimity easily placed her hand on Hecate’s elbow and offered a warm smile to Narcissus, gently extracting her friend from the conversation and leading her into the hallway.

She could feel the tension leave Hecate’s body. As they continued walking, Hecate shifted slightly closer, leaning in to point out in a low murmur, “If you’re going to do the promo video, you’ll need to come in early to set up the hoop.”

Dimity’s eyes widened in understanding. “OH, HB, I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t,” her companion returned drolly. “Save it for Miss Hubble.”

Dimity laughed. Hecate stopped walking and motioned for Dimity to get on with it.

“I owe ya one, dollface.” Dimity flashed a grin as she gave HB a quick pop on the ass. By now, the woman was used to such displays of affection and merely rolled her eyes in response.

Dimity hurried back into the room, where Julie was already busy folding the chairs and returning the room to its usual state.

“Oh, hiya,” Julie looked both surprised and confused to see Dimity again.

“So—the thing is, I’ll need to come in early next week. To get the hoop rigged up and make sure it’s working properly,” Dimity’s words were coming fast and slightly off-kilter, like she was kid again, trying to lie her way out of something with her mother.

“How early?”

“Oh, um—doesn’t matter, I suppose. I could come set it up anytime during the week. I have one permanently installed in our dance studio, so once I install the other one here, it can stay until the show closes.”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Julie smiled again and Dimity was fairly certain her heart melted straight into her shoes. “How about tomorrow, then? If that’s not too soon?”

 _Too soon to see your face again? No such thing._ “That’ll work.”

Julie shifted, pulling her cell out of her back pocket. “Lemme give you my number. I’ll be here all day tomorrow, so you can just call whenever you want to drop by.”

Dimity nodded and pulled out her phone as well. Within seconds, they had exchanged numbers, and Dimity felt a ridiculous sense of triumph about it all. However, she tried to play it cool—with her suavest smile, she took her leave, “See ya tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Julie nodded, giving a breathless grin in response ( _flustered, was she flustered by Dimity’s smile? Oh gods above, please let that be true!_ ).

Dimity ducked her head and turned on her heel, hoping her stupid soppy grin wasn’t too much of a dead giveaway.

HB was in the hallway, a smirk of her own on her face.

“I take it that you were successful.”

“Time will tell,” Dimity returned philosophically.

HB just gave a huff of amusement. They fell into step, traversing the carpeted hallway in easy synch.

“Not much has changed.” Dimity noted, looking up at the ceiling, gilded with intricate designs.

“No,” Hecate also slowed her pace so that she could crane her neck. “Not much at all, I suppose.”

“Feel weird, being back?”

Dimity was referring to being back in a room with Pippa, Hecate knew. And she answered in kind, “Not as weird as I expected it to be, to be honest.”

“Natty’s aged well.”

“He was after my time here.”

“I used to have the biggest crush on him.”

Now Hecate stopped, eyes wide as saucers. Dimity laughed in response.

“I know. It was before I really knew. Well, I think I knew, I just…he was charming and talented. It was hard not to fall a little bit.”

The wrinkled nose and arched eyebrow of one Hecate Hardbroom begged to differ. Dimity merely chuckled at her friend’s reaction. She opened the heavy glass door and held it for HB, who slipped past, quickly donning her sunglasses.

“Looking back, I think I wanted to be him, in a way,” Dimity squinted, partially from the sun and partially from her attempts to remember. She didn’t have to glance over to feel Hecate’s look of confusion. “He was suave and all the girls were charmed by him.”

“The exact same could be said about you.” Dimity loved Hecate for the note of offense in her voice, for the way she defended Dimity from her own unspoken judgment against herself. That was the part that made their friendship work—they could act like absolute shits to each other, but no one else was allowed to be negative towards them, their own selves included.

“Not back then.”

“Ah.” Hecate suddenly understood. Dimity merely hummed in agreement.

Then, shifting conversation slightly, Dimity said, “I’m bringing the hoop ‘round tomorrow, to get it all set up.”

“Rather quick turnaround,” Hecate’s tone was laced with teasing.

“It was Julie’s suggestion.”

“Was it, now?”

Dimity couldn’t help but grin. It was, and that had to mean something, didn’t it? She tried to stop her brain from following that rabbit trail. She still barely knew Julie Hubble, for all she knew the woman was just very friendly and very helpful because she was the manager and that was her _job_. And if she seemed to smile a little more brightly at Dimity, or if she happened to place her hand on Dimity’s shoulder, well, that didn’t mean anything at all, did it?

Well, it could mean something. It could also mean nothing. Dimity shook her head at her own foolishness. Tomorrow. She’d be able to truly tell by tomorrow.

“So…when you set up the hoop tomorrow,” HB’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Will you be expressing your desire to _lean in_ to her aura?”

Rather than rise to the bait of her teasing, Dimity returned, “It’ll be more implied than announced.”

“Choosing subtlety? That should be an interesting change of pace for you.”

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“I am and I do,” HB’s words were warm with pride. They continued on in companionable silence, stopping at the street corner. The taller woman swiveled slightly, trying to get her bearings. “There’s a rather good shawarma shop around here—or at least there used to be.”

Dimity understood the unspoken request. She rolled her eyes at Hecate’s predictability. Most people took one look at her willowy frame and assumed that she hardly ate at all—but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The woman ate on nearly two hour increments, almost reliable enough for Dimity to set a watch by it. They’d had a full breakfast before coming to the meeting, but that had been an hour and a half ago.

“C’mon,” she turned and headed in the appropriate direction. “I know just the one you’re talking about.”

Hecate doubled her pace to catch up. Fifteen minutes later, they were installed in the uncomfortable metal café chairs outside the shawarma shop, both fighting a losing battle against dropping bits of onion on the tabletop.

Halfway through her sandwich, Hecate finally spoke up, her tone neutral as she noted, “You didn’t flirt with the girl at the register.”

“And?” Dimity took a sip of her drink, confused by the sudden topic.

“And that’s unusual for you,” Hecate returned simply. She took a smaller bite this time. “She’s definitely your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Exactly.”

Dimity hummed in amusement. Still, she realized that Hecate had a point. She seemed to be in a haze, recently. Losing her game.

They both knew why. For whatever reason, Hecate had chosen to show mercy this time by not saying so aloud.

 _It’s just an infatuation_ , she reminded herself. A little stronger than most, but still predictable. This feeling towards Julie Hubble would fade, just like all the feelings for all the girls who came before. That was alright. She’d enjoy it while it lasted.

After all, Julie seemed like _quite_ an enjoyable woman.

* * *

Ada Cackle gave a soft sigh of relief as she slipped out of her high heels, letting her toes wiggle and flex against the plush carpet on the dressing room floor.

“So long, Monte Carlo,” Gullet breezed into the room with an air of happiness. Tonight was their last performance—Ada and Agatha had just spent two hours in reception afterwards, signing books and taking photos with fans and chatting with burlesque enthusiasts. Several patrons found it easier to speak in French, and Ada graciously obliged. After living in Paris for years, her French was solid, but the shift in accent was sometimes difficult to understand. She felt as if her brain had been through a gymnastic routine. That part she wouldn’t miss, for sure.

Gullet had spent some time at the reception as well, but she’d slipped back to the dressing room at some point—their costumes and props were already back in their travel trunks, the portable clothing rack broken down and packed as well, and most of their makeup was tidily put away. The room looked empty without all the silk and feathers. Their suitcases were here tonight as well, since they had checked out of their hotel that morning. Ada felt a familiar tug at the sight, imbued with the air of _going home_.

Agatha arrived, still wearing a lazy champagne smile. She collapsed into the arm chair in the corner, popping her feet on the edge of a trunk. Her black patent leather pumps gleamed in the light and she flexed her toes, momentarily distracted by the glint. Ada bit back a smile—her twin was definitely well into her second bottle of champagne.

“So,” Gullet leaned against a vanity, focused on the phone in her hand. “You’ve got nothing scheduled for the next two weeks, except the promotional bit for Esper’s show—”

Agatha groaned, tilting her head back. She hadn’t seen the point in going to London for a single video shoot, particularly since they were merely one of the acts featured in it—after all, they had plenty of promotional footage they could send, and more importantly, they were far too important to make such a paltry trip. But Ada had insisted they go. If nothing else, it would be good to meet the managing staff and reconnect with Gwen and Algie again, as well as reacquaint themselves with the theatre and its stage in advance. They could make a small vacation of it, spend a few extra days in the city. Agatha had eventually caved and their travel had been booked, but she still reserved the right to grouse about it.

Gullet merely arched her brow in Agatha’s direction, continuing with her speech, “So we’ve got four days in Paris, then over to London. Then it’s the two-week show at Cabaret Chaton.”

“It always amazes me, Gullet—as many years as you’ve spent in Paris, your French accent is still atrocious,” Agatha mused aloud.

“Because I don’t spend my time chasing French girls barely out of puberty, and therefore do not care what it sounds like,” Gullet informed her easily. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulder, but Ada could tell that she was still miffed by Agatha’s quip. “I get along just fine with the accent I’ve got, and it ain’t changing anytime soon.”

Agatha hummed in amusement. Ada was certain that if her sister stayed in that chair for another ten minutes, she’d be fast asleep.

Apparently Gullet realized this too, because she moved forward, leaning down to tap Agatha’s foot. The blonde opened her eyes and Gullet offered her hand. “C’mon. You can sleep on the train.”

Agatha only whined slightly, but she took Gullet’s hand and let the woman pull her to her feet. Within minutes, the remaining cosmetics were packed away. As usual, Gullet had already arranged for a car service to take them and all their belongings to the train—they’d booked a private sleeping car to Paris, as Ada didn’t do well with flying and Gullet felt that it was a better financial decision, considering that Agatha didn’t want to fly anything less than first class.

By the time the car arrived, Gullet had convinced some of the stage crew to help load the trunks and soon they were on their way. Ada gave a happy sigh as she gave one last look at the neon lights of the cabaret.

Home to Paris, then back to her very first home, London. Sometimes she couldn’t believe her luck, her life.

“So,” Gullet’s voice quietly broke into her wonderment—low and light, to keep from disturbing Agatha, who was already half-asleep. “Yea or nay?”

It was the same question Gullet asked, every time they finished an engagement, to see if they were interested in any further bookings with that particular venue.

“Yea, I think,” Ada answered. She’d had no issues with the crew or the management staff, and all the other performers had been friendly. There was no reason to say no to coming again, if they were asked back. Still, she felt a tug of hesitation.

She knew why. Her tarot cards had divined something unexpected coming her way—something life-changingly powerful, but in a good way. She wasn’t sure what kind of plans she should make, based on that prediction.

Whatever came next, it would be good, she reminded herself. All good things come to those who wait.

What was she waiting for, exactly? Her stomach tightened with the thought that soon enough, she’d have an answer.


	4. Act 1, Scene 4: Up and Away

Dimity told herself not to read too much into Julie’s tone when they arranged a time for hoop installation, the next morning. After all, Julie was a chipper thing, wasn’t she? She was probably that friendly on the phone to everyone, right?

And she probably smiled that brightly at everyone, Dimity told herself when she arrived and was greeted by another heart-stopping grin.

She tried not to read too much into the way Julie’s hand landed on Dimity’s back, when she asked if Dimity needed help carrying anything. With her hoop on one shoulder and her duffel bag on the other, Dimity supposed she did look overwhelmed, but she quickly brushed off the offer for help. Julie merely nodded and guided her into the theatre. And though Dimity fully knew the way, she certainly didn't mind having that particular vision in front of her.

The theatre was built at a slight incline, so that the aisles sloped downwards, to the space that had once held an orchestra pit. Dimity took a long look around, feeling a pang of nostalgia at the white washed walls covered in gilded leaves and vines, the darkly colored sea of chairs that she’d overlooked countless times from her perch atop the hoop or suspended upside down in aerial silks. This had been her first home as a performer, but she hadn’t expected to feel so emotional about returning.

 Julie’s voice brought her back to the present moment, calling out to someone on the stage, who turned to look at them with an expectant expression.

“Taps, this is—”

“I know who she is,” the woman made a very pointed look at the trapeze hoop in Dimity’s hands. “The hoop’s a bit of a giveaway, I’d think.”

“Ah, yes. Right. Of course,” Julie gave a light chuckle. She turned back to Dimity, “This is Miss Tapioca, our stage manager.”

Like Miss Tapioca, Dimity could have guessed the woman’s identity without being told a single thing. The comfy cargo pants and thick-soled, sensible shoes, the hair in a bun and the utility belt around her waist which held, Dimity knew, an assortment of gadgets and emergency supplies—it all screamed stage manager.

“You can call me Taps, like everyone else,” she decreed, stepping forward to take Dimity’s hoop and lift it onto the stage. Dimity walked around to the set of stairs at the side, quickly joining her onstage.

Julie held her hands open in a gesture of welcome. “Well, I won’t keep ya from it, ladies.”

Dimity turned to say something, _anything_ to the retreating woman, but Miss Tapioca was already pulling her attention back to the actual reason for her visit. “So we already have all the wenches and pulleys installed for aerial pieces—probably from your time here as a regular, I’d imagine.”

“Um, yeah, probably,” Dimity forced herself to focus. She looked up into the stage rafters, her eyes easily adjusting to the house lights. There was another crew member already on the cat walk, testing the wires before sending the hook down.

“Right, so,” Miss Tapioca gave a rather large wave towards the back of the theatre, where the tech booth sat. “I’ve got Colin in the back, ready to test out the bits.”

A sharp whistle replied from the booth. Dimity merely nodded in the booth’s direction in acknowledgement as she set her duffel bag down at the edge of the stage. The hook came down and Dimity made sure it was properly attached as Miss Tapioca watched over her shoulder—she would be able to do last-minute checks on the hoop as well, once the show rolled around. It was part of standard stage safety protocol to have multiple checks by multiple people.

Dimity made a gesture to Colin in the booth, and the hoop began to slowly rise. Dimity motioned for him to stop once the it was a few feet off the ground. She sat on the hoop, pushing back on her heels and letting it rock and twirl, testing the wire at a safe height.

“Could I have a go?” A childish voice took Dimity by surprise.

“Over your mum’s dead body,” Miss Tapioca returned without missing a beat.

A young girl with pigtails climbed onto the stage, delicately avoiding the footlights. “Aw, c’mon, Taps, it looks like so much fun.”

The stage manager didn’t need a verbal reply—she merely fixed the girl with such a solid look that the child knew better than to argue any further. Still, the wistful expression on her face as she reached out to lightly touch the hoop made Dimity’s heart melt. Dimity was reminded of her own childhood wish—to be able to fly, like a bird. This had been the closest thing she’d found.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem if you sat on it now, at this height,” Dimity pointed out. She looked over at Miss Tapioca, who rolled her eyes, held her hands up in a gesture of defeat, and walked away.

“Be it on your head,” she said, over her shoulder.

The young girl was jumping up and down with excitement. Dimity set her hands on the girl’s shoulder, slightly calming her down.

“Right. So, first, you need to know where to put your hands,” Dimity motioned to the taped sections of the hoop. “These are your safe zones. The tape keeps your hand from slipping.”

Her student nodded in understanding.

“Now, for you, the main focus is keeping a solid grip,” Dimity went to her bag and rummaged through it, finding the small bag of resin. “So we’re gonna give you a little help in that department. We’re gonna dust your hands with this stuff, to help them stay dry.”

Dimity helped the girl dust her hands and then directed her on how to properly sit on the hoop.

“Perfect,” Dimity decreed with a smile. “Now I’m gonna give you a spin. Ready?”

“Ready!” The girl’s excitement was palpable. Dimity couldn’t help but grin. She took one side of the hoop and threw it into a spin. The girl squealed in delight as it rocked and swayed erratically during the spin.

“Mildred Hubble, what do you think you’re doing?!” Julie’s voice rang out from the back of the theatre, the alarm and reprimand evident in every syllable.

The girl—Mildred, apparently—immediately jumped off the hoop, tumbling forward. Luckily, Dimity was able to catch her.

“She’s perfectly safe,” Dimity assured Julie, her veins filling with sudden dread. Hubble. Obviously this was Julie’s daughter. “I wasn’t going to let her go any higher—not without your permission, anyways.”

Mildred caught the last part and gave a gasp of delight, “Oh, please, Mum, can I? Please, please, please!”

“I’ll go up with her,” Dimity added, hoping that would allay her fears. She suddenly felt a need to prove herself, to show Julie that she was responsible and trustworthy.

Julie set her hands on her hips and studied the hoop with such intense scrutiny that Dimity thought the woman might actually be performing some kind of risk assessment algorithm in her head.

“Alright,” she decreed, giving a small nod. “But if you break your neck, you’ll get no sympathy from me, missy.”

Mildred gave a whoop of delight as she pumped her fists in victory. Julie rolled her eyes and shook her head like a perfect picture of martyrdom, but Dimity caught the smile she tried to hide.

Soon Dimity and Mildred were installed side by side on the hoop, and Colin in the booth was lifting them higher into the air. Mildred gave a squeal of delight—Dimity could feel the kid’s body practically vibrating, as if she wanted to kick her feet but was restraining herself. So maybe—just maybe—Dimity tilted the hoop just enough that it began to twirl in a lazy circle. This elicited further excitement from Mildred, who whooped with joy again. From below, Dimity heard Julie’s laugh.

Julie was still beaming by the time they lowered back to the ground.

“Oh, Mum, you really gotta try,” Mildred jumped off the hoop, gesturing for Julie to come onstage. Julie shot a quick glance at Dimity, who merely grinned in response.

Within seconds, Julie was dusting her hands with resin and nodding along as Dimity explained how to sit and where to put her hands. Like Mildred, Julie took a few spins on the hoop at its current height, just to make sure she was alright with the movement.

“Ready for liftoff?” Dimity asked.

Now Julie looked a bit sheepish as she looked up at the rafters, “I suppose.”

Dimity recognized the slight fear in her expression. “Want me to ride along, too?”

“Would you?” The relief blossoming across those adorable features made Dimity’s chest tighten.

“Absolutely.” Dimity decided she should buy Mildred a pony.

Julie shifted slightly, giving Dimity a space to sit. Dimity tried not to think of how close their bodies where in this moment, hips pressed against each other, arms extended behind each other's head to grasp the opposite side of the hoop. Then they began to lift and Julie twittered at the movement. Her left hand stayed on the taped section, but her right hand lost its grip, coming down to land on Dimity’s thigh instinctively. Dimity quickly countered by keeping her right hand firmly in place while wrapping her left arm around Julie’s waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” Julie gushed, giving a shaky, embarrassed laugh.

“No worries,” Dimity returned easily. This time, she didn’t try to spin them. She wasn’t sure Julie would be able to hang on for that kind of movement.

“Would now be a bad time to admit I’ve always had a bit of a thing about heights?” Julie asked.

Dimity wasn’t sure if she should laugh at that or not. However, when Julie looked up to meet her gaze, Dimity realized the woman was dead serious.

“Why on earth would you say yes to something like this?” The words tumbled out before Dimity could fully think about them.

Julie blinked, looking slightly chastised. “You just—you made it look so simple. And safe.”

Somehow, she made it sound like a compliment. Dimity couldn’t help but laugh, “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about my hoop work before.”

Julie blushed and Dimity’s heart forgot how to work for a full beat. Somehow, she retained the presence of mind to motion for Colin to lower them back to the ground.

“Well, thank you for that,” Julie said, once they were physically on their feet again. She made a small noise of dismay when she noticed the resin mark she'd left on Dimity’s thigh. “I’m sorry, I’ve mussed up your pants.”

She instinctively reached forward to wipe away the mark, then stopped herself as she fully realized what she was about to do. She blushed again and Dimity decided she’d never seen a cuter thing in her entire life.

 _Flustered_. HB’s voice echoed in her head (really, not the voice she wanted to hear in a moment like this). So whatever this was, it was definitely mutual.

“No worries,” Dimity dusted the resin away herself, though she kept the image of Julie’s hand outlined across her thigh.

“Now,” Julie stepped back, easily slipping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “We’ll leave you in peace.”

“Thank you again,” Mildred gave one last smile. Dimity wondered why she hadn’t immediately realized that this must be Julie’s daughter. They both beamed like the sun.

“You’re most welcome,” Dimity meant every word of it. With a wink, she added, “Maybe you can come take lessons at the studio, one day. You seem to have a knack for it.”

She didn’t think it was possible for the kid’s face to get any brighter—yet somehow, it did. Mildred turned to her mother with a hopeful air.

“We’ll see,” was Julie’s response. She was still smiling, too, and that gave Dimity hope.

The thought of having Julie Hubble in her dance studio, every week, made Dimity grin as well. And it was in that moment that she realized what danger she was in.

* * *

Algernon Rowan-Webb walked into his office to find his wife rummaging through the shelves. “What are you doing, love?”

“Do you have a system to this madness?” Gwen didn't turn to face him. Instead she continued sorting through the collection of DVDs and VHS tapes that filled an entire bookshelf. While the music hall had performances three to five nights a week, depending on the season, they switched shows about every three to six months, depending on how well it sold tickets. Plus there were a few specialty events, like Christmas shows that ran the entire month of December, and shows for various other historical events or holidays. They’d first begun recording shows in the 80s, so they had nearly thirty years of performances on the shelf.

“I do, actually. They’re arranged alphabetically.”

She stopped, turning to him in incredulity. “Alphabetically?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You actually remember the name of each show?”

“Don’t you?” He looked so adorable in his confusion. Gwen couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, I don’t. Not at all.” It was amazing to her, that after all these years, he could still surprise her.

“Well, what are you looking for?” He moved forward, eager to help.

“Some performances of The Hipsnotic Sisters.” She took a step back, so that she was standing beside him. She looked up and down the length of the bookcase.

Algie made a small sound of surprise. Gwen grinned in response.

“Pippa requested it,” she answered his unspoken question. “Wanted to get some ideas, I think. Though Mavis will handle their costuming and Beni will be choreographing the numbers.”

“Here we go,” Algie reached up, grabbing a VHS tape. “We should probably send the VHS player along, too. Doubt they’ll have one.”

Gwen hummed in agreement as she took the tape. A few seconds later, Algie located another one.

“D’you want all of them?” He asked. She considered the question—The Hipsnotic Sisters had danced together for nearly four years. That meant at least a dozen tapes.

“I suppose so,” she replied. “You never know which one might be useful.”

“True,” he crouched down to slide another tape off the shelf.

“For someone who can never remember to put his coat on the rack, your memory for show details is quite impressive,” she drawled.

“Well, one of those things involves you in fishnets and a corset, and the other doesn’t,” he pointed out philosophically. “Makes perfect sense, if you ask me.”

She was grinning when he looked up to hand her the next tape. They continued in easy silence as he scoured the shelves and pulled all the relevant tapes. In the end, there was quite a stack.

“I’ll let Pippa know she can come round and pick them up,” Gwen announced.

“Still can’t believe she talked Clair into it.”

“She’s Ursula now, but yes, I’m equally surprised.”

“And I thought she and Hecate behaved pretty amicably at the meeting, all things considered.”

Gwen hummed in agreement, though she felt the need to point out, “They didn’t speak to each other, so can’t say we’re entirely out of the woods on that front.”

“It’s been a quarter of a century. Surely they’ve buried the hatchet by now.”

“You’d be surprised. I still haven’t forgiven Adora Thistle—”

“Nothing ever happened, Gwendolyn—”

“Not for lack of trying, on her part,” Gwen gave a light sniff. She and Algie hadn’t even been married at the time—another chorus girl had taken a shine to him, and Gwen Bat may or may not have threatened the girl with grievous bodily harm.

“I only had eyes for you,” he reassured her, swooping in for a quick kiss. “Still do.”

“I’m glad. For your sake.” She pulled him into another kiss before adding, “And mine, too. I’m much too old to go to prison.”

He laughed, but he was fairly certain that there was a note of seriousness in her words. Though time had mellowed them both considerably, Gwen still had more than enough fire left in her veins. Thankfully they both knew her threats were empty, because she’d never have a reason to fulfill them.

“Go call Miss Pentangle,” he instructed, lightly giving her hip a gentle shooing motion. She was nearly out the door when he remembered, “Oh, and don’t forget—we’re taking Millie out to eat tonight.”

“I would never forget,” she informed him, feigning a huffiness that she didn’t truly feel. As she walked away, she muttered (intentionally loud enough for him to hear), “And yet he still can’t remember to hang his coat.”

He settled into his desk chair with a slight chuckle. Never a dull moment with the missus, that was for certain. Not that he was complaining.

* * *

For a Sunday evening, the Axedentally In Love axe-throwing pub was rather quiet. There were still plenty of people in the lanes, hauling axes at the targets painted on the wall, the air filled with the clunks of axes bouncing off the wood and clamoring onto the floor. But it wasn’t as packed as usual.

Dimity and Hecate were able to secure an axe throwing lane further away from the rest of the crowd, which made Hecate happy. Though currently, she was looking rather wistfully at the food order of a group three lanes down, as if she hadn’t just eaten a burger the half the size of Dimity’s head and a full order of chips less than half an hour ago.

“Drink your wine and be happy,” Dimity informed her, taking a swig of her own beer to punctuate her point.

Hecate hefted her axe, growling in frustration when it hit broadside, clunking onto the floor. She retrieved it before coming back to their hightop table, delicately taking a sip of her wine before switching back to their previous conversation, “So, do you really think Julie Hubble will bring her daughter to the studio for hoop lessons?”

Dimity shrugged. “She seemed interested.”

“In the lessons?” HB kept a completely straight face, one eyebrow lifting. Dimity couldn’t help but laugh. The bottomless pit finally gave into temptation, waving down a waiter to order another plate of chips. Dimity rolled her eyes and went to get an axe.

With a deep breath and a solid hurl, she set the blade slicing right into the wooden target, only one ring from the bullseye. When she turned back to the table, HB was lifting her wine in silent salute.

Hecate rose to her feet again and met Dimity at the end of the throwing lane, axe already in hand.

Dimity knew the answer, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “I shouldn’t pursue this, should I?”

“No,” Hecate’s voice was quiet, filled with gravity. “You shouldn’t.”

She tossed the axe up slightly, letting it twirl in the air before landing in her open palm again. “Not that you’ve ever been one to do what you should.”

Dimity stepped back and let Hecate toe the line, preparing to hurl her axe. This time, she stuck it to the target. She gave a small fist pump of victory and went to wrench it from the wooden wall. On her way back, she took one look at Dimity’s face and knew that her advice was already well on its way to being ignored.

“The thing is, I don’t think I can,” Dimity admitted. “I mean, yes, normally she’s everything that points to a huge red flag for me—she’s technically a coworker, she’s part of our industry, she has a flipping kid, who may become one of our students, which will in-turn make her a client. And she’s…well she’s not as daring as I usually like them.”

Hecate listened to this laundry list with an impassive expression, tilting her head lightly to the side, “And yet…”

“And yet,” Dimity gave a helpless flop of her hands. “And yet here we are.”

“And where are we, exactly?”

“Every time something pops up that would normally make me walk away, I find myself just…liking her even more.” Dimity felt a wave of frustration at her own confusion. “I can’t stop myself from thinking about her. From…I don’t know, _wanting_ to lean in.”

“You _can_ stop,” Hecate corrected quietly. She kept her gaze focused on the axe in her hand, lightly tracing the edges of the worn handle. “You just have to choose to do so.”

Now she glanced back up, her expression filled with a wary concern. She wasn’t trying to be confrontational or cruel, Dimity knew—the worry in those dark eyes was genuine.

“You’re right, I can,” Dimity had to concede. “But…maybe she’s my exception.”

She really meant _maybe I’m in love_ , though she’d never utter such a trite thing in front of the logical and pragmatic Hecate Hardbroom. Still, somehow, Hecate understood, because her face split into an expression of brief shock, which she quickly masked with a softer, gentler look.

“Just be careful,” Hecate said quietly. That was as close to a blessing as Dimity was going to get, and truthfully, coming from HB, it felt like a divine absolution. Dimity ducked her head to tamp down her grin.

Hecate made another small noise that sounded like the delighted trill of a cat. Dimity turned to follow the source of her attention and realized Hecate’s latest order of food had arrived. The woman set down her axe and headed back to the table.

Dimity merely rolled her eyes and returned her focus to the target at the end of the lane. She lined her feet up and threw her arms into the hurl.

Bullseye. She took it for a sign.

* * *

Hecate bolted all three locks on her door and resisted the very strong urge to slump against it. She’d only had two glasses of wine that evening, which meant her current exhaustion was genuine and not alcoholically induced.

A shadow shifted in the darkness and waited.

“I know, I’m late,” she admitted. She flicked on the light to see Morgana, her black long-haired cat, staring at her with a rather unforgiving expression. Hecate couldn’t help but grin at the absolute imperiousness of an animal who was more fluff than actual substance. She slipped out of her leather jacket and hung it by the door before bending down to scoop Morgana into her arms, nuzzling into the thick, soft fur. The cat gave a slight mewl in protest, but Hecate only held her tighter as she moved into the small but functional galley kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the walls and cupboards were stark white, every single item in the room meticulously chosen for both form and functionality. Hecate’s flat wasn’t particularly large, but the vaulted ceilings gave the illusion of more space—an illusion she further cultivated through choosing a simple aesthetic and selecting a palette that added further dimension. Dimity had hounded her for years to get a bigger place, but Hecate had never seen the point of it. She had more than enough room for herself and Morgana, she had turned the space into something she found aesthetically pleasing and efficiently functional, and coming home to this particular flat had, for the most part, never sparked anything less than simple, quiet joy. It was hers. It was where she belonged. After so many years of not feeling this way, she’d never do anything to potentially lose the sensation.

Morgana was fed again (like her owner, she seemed to be perpetually hungry), and Hecate shed her ankle boots before padding across the small living room and into her bedroom. The light from the hallway was bright enough to illuminate her bedroom as she changed into more comfortable clothes. By the time she went to brush her teeth, Morgana was weaving around her ankles and meowing for attention. As usual, Hecate tripped over the cat and barely caught herself against the wall.

“If you murder me, I can’t feed you anymore,” she reminded the feline, not for the first time.

Morgana seemed indifferent to this. Not that Hecate had expected anything less.

She puttered around the flat for another half hour, finding mindless tasks to occupy her busy mind.

Dimity was making a mistake, she knew that. And there was nothing Hecate could do to stop her, she knew that also. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to spend the rest of the night arguing, trying to convince Dimity to see sense.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dimity. She just…didn’t trust other people.

Granted, Julie Hubble seemed logical and capable and grounded and generally a good person. But she’d been around the woman for less than an hour. Anyone could be good for an hour, for an audience. That was a lesson Hecate had learned, most painfully.

What if it ended badly? Just because it had never happened before, didn’t mean it wouldn’t or couldn’t this time. They had nearly four months left before the show. As a theatre manager, Julie Hubble actually had more power in the situation—she could make a few phone calls, create a city-wide blacklist of Foxie Moxie, which would be a damaging blow to Dimity’s performance career. And there was a kid in the mix—Hecate’s own mother had kept a rotating cast of men in her life, and Hecate knew first hand how that sense of impermanence and instability affected a child. And if Dimity did become this child’s teacher, someone she trusted? Oh, the potential outcomes became even worse.

Morgana must have sensed Hecate’s unease—she reached out from her perch atop the back of the couch, claws lightly hooking into Hecate’s sweatpants as she walked past. Hecate stuttered to a stop, trying not to rip the fabric. She understood the unspoken command and pulled Morgana into her arms again, making small kissy sounds against the top of her cat’s head as she walked around the flat, turning out the lights for the night.

Dimity was a big girl. She could handle herself. Hecate knew that, deep in her bones, beneath the fear and worry. She wasn’t sure why this particular situation bothered her, when all of Dimity’s past escapades hadn’t. Maybe it was the full moon—she always found herself feeling more erratic, more anxious during this phase.

Once she and Morgana were settled into bed, Hecate finally pieced together why she was so worried: because this time, Dimity was acting out of character. Granted, Hecate had always been the more pragmatic of the two, but Dimity had never been one to get so…swept away. It didn’t make sense.

It was terrifying. And incomprehensible. She couldn’t ever imagine having such a deep and sudden reaction to a total stranger, without knowing anything about their character or their personality. It defied reason. Not that she’d been immune to seeing a pretty face or a particularly attractive physique and having nearly-instantaneous reactions in response—but that was lust, pure and simple. Whatever was hitting Dimity right now was…different.

Hecate was reminded, once again, that perhaps she wasn’t quite like other people. She didn’t consider herself special, but there must be some kind of defect. Given her childhood, she would not be surprised—it could have been nurtured into her or bequeathed naturally through her mother’s DNA. Both were equally plausible.

Morgana had begun pouncing at Hecate’s feet beneath the comforter. Hecate wiggled her toes again, thankful that she’d chosen thick, fluffy bedding that lessened the impact of little claws and teeth as Morgana latched onto her foot with full force. Not that the force was that overwhelming to begin with—Hecate had rescued Morgana from a garbage bin outside the dance studio nearly five years ago as a half-grown kit, but the cat hadn’t grown much beyond that size. She probably weighed eight pounds at the most.

Hecate scratched the sheets, getting Morgana’s attention. The cat padded up the bed, allowing Hecate to snuggle her into an embrace. With a small smile, Hecate decided love at first sight wasn’t too incomprehensible—after all, she’d taken one look at this raggedy little kitten and her heart had never been fully hers again.

With the ease brought on by years of training, Hecate intentionally cleared her mind of its worries and drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thanks to everyone who has taken the time to kudos/comment/share on tumblr!


	5. Act 1, Scene 5: Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm a weirdo. You probably know this (me) by now. If you're interesting in seeing the layout of the music hall, come find me on @marvelousllymadmim and/or search for 'all that glitters' hashtag.

London seemed entirely new, while still holding an old air of familiarity—Ada wasn’t sure how to reconcile the dichotomy, but she embraced it nonetheless. And returning to The Extraordinary Esper Vespertilio’s Midnight Music Hall had inspired the same odd feeling. So much of herself had changed, yet so much of the music hall had remained exactly the same.

Gullet didn’t come with them. They didn’t need her, not for something as simple as this. Or at least they thought they didn’t.

“Where’s your necklace?” Agatha looked down at her sister’s neck. They were already backstage, waiting for their turn in front of the camera. Currently Natty Nightshade was singing, twirling towards the camera to give a dashing grin as Narcissus crooned beside him.

Ada instinctively reached for her collarbone, fingertips met bare skin.

“It’ll look better with the necklace,” Agatha added. Ada had to agree—she had a rhinestone bib necklace that absolutely glittered beneath the stage lights, somehow both elegant and flashy.

“I’ll be back,” Ada hurried down the steps, towards the dressing room.

* * *

“Last touches,” Dimity decreed, giving a final spritz of body glitter across Hecate’s very bare back. Then both women turned to the large full-length mirror on the wall of their dressing room, giving final assessments on their outfits.

Hecate turned to look at the back of her costume over her shoulder. Normally she chose black and red pieces for her fire fan performances, but Julie had requested that everyone choose a main theme of gold or silver, with light colors to compliment. So she’d gone with a white bra and bottoms set, bedecked in silver rhinestones. She’d even repainted some old fans silver. She gave one last critical look at the back of her boy shorts—the cut was high and the entire back was netting so delicate that it seemed nonexistent from a distance. It looked as if there were rhinestones attached to her bare skin. It would look good on camera, she decided.

Dimity had chosen a rose gold leotard with a sheer skirt, with a bejeweled bralette layered over it to allow more structure for her breasts (with all the flipping upside down in her routine, she needed to make sure they stayed relatively in-position). She'd covered herself in a gold body glitter so that she shimmered with every movement, and her eyes were outlined in kohl and gold which feathered up to her temples. Her hair was pinned back with vintage hair combs of pearl and rhinestones on either side, their winged shapes giving her the look of a Valkyrie.

“We look good,” Dimity gave a nod to their reflections. Hecate gave a nod of confirmation as well before picking up her fans and heading to the stage.

Taps, the stage manager, quickly directed each to their place in line. Dimity was further ahead—she gave a quick wink and hurried further into the wings. Hecate, due to the nature of her act, was put last.

“That way if you catch fire, we’ll already have everyone else’s pieces filmed,” Taps explained, absolutely straight-faced.

Rather practical, Hecate had to admit.

* * *

Ada doubled her pace, hurrying down the narrow hallway into the backstage area, rounding the corner and very nearly crashing into a rather lovely bejeweled ass.

Hecate heard the commotion behind her and shifted slightly, looking over her shoulder at the woman currently three steps below on the stairs. She was instantly caught by the most intensely blue eyes she had ever seen.

The stranger offered a bubbly, breathless smile, “Apologies. I’m just—I need to squeeze by.”

“Of course,” Hecate shifted to one side, pulling her fans closer so that the woman could pass. The woman's necklace twinkled and winked, even in the darkness, and Hecate realized she was staring at the woman's breasts as she slipped past. She blinked hard and turned her face away, hoping the stranger hadn't noticed.

The blonde offered another smile of thanks and hurried on. Hecate couldn’t stop her gaze from following. The little bounce in her step, the airy happiness and the sunny smile that was gifted to everyone in her wake, the pink silk costume so perfectly suited to her skin tone—every second produced another item to pull Hecate’s attention, another thing to immediately label as _lovely_ and _pleasing_.

Eventually the blonde was out of view, and Hecate fought the urge to lean over, to crane her neck and see if she could spot her again. The act in front of her was a small band of chorus girls in outrageous ostrich feather headpieces and clinking bead skirts who kept shifting and moving around as they chatted, completely destroying any chance for Hecate to look past them with any form of subtlety. She looked down at her fans, forced herself to focus. The line moved along, quite smoothly. Finally, she was actually backstage, at a gap in the curtain where she could see what was going on.

The cameraman had a body rig, so that he could easily move around the performers, catching different angles. In the space that was once the orchestra pit, Algie, Julie, and a few other crew were watching a monitor, offering suggestions on angles or asking a performer to repeat a movement or tweak a pose.

Miss Merry Gold twittered her large ostrich feather fans in various poses. Foxie Moxie suspended upside down from her hoop, offering a dashing grin at the camera. In another shot, she turned the hoop at an angle and held on with just her hands, twirling so that her skirt flared and glimmered in the light. She lifted her left foot into a passé, keeping her toes pointed—she looked like a little ballerina from a music box, Hecate thought.

Miss Breathtakingly-Blue Eyes was next—Hecate realized that she must be one of the twins, once she saw another remarkably similar woman sashay across the stage with her. They were both smiling, joking and laughing with the crew and the cameraman.

The blonde’s hands were delicately smoothing the lines of her powder pink silk romper, the rhinestones on the white lace trim twinkling with every shift and movement as she readjusted her feather boa. Julie was calling to them from the front of the stage, and Hecate fought the urge to shush to chatting chorus girls so that she could hear every word.

The woman laughed at something. Hecate’s throat tightened. She found herself leaning forward, just slightly, fans still clutched to her chest. She was grateful for the darkness of the stage wings—hopefully it hid the fact that she was staring, absolutely gawking the entire time the blonde twirled and beamed at the camera, playfully gesturing for the viewer to join her. She wasn’t sure that she even blinked until the woman exited the stage on the opposite side, finally hidden from Hecate’s view.

Thankfully the chorus girls were up next, giving her time to get her head on straight again before her own performance.

Still, a tiny part of her hoped that maybe, just maybe, the blonde would watch her, too.

* * *

Ada instantly liked Miss Foxie Moxie, Star of the Sky. It was always a bit of a gamble, coming into a new group of performers—some let the glitz and glam get to their heads, becoming divas or otherwise unbearable catty bitches. It was a small number, to be sure, but you never knew if one was amongst you until it was too late.

However, when Ada and her sister came offstage, she found Foxie Moxie and Merry Gold toasting the twins’ success.

“Champagne?” Foxie Moxie held up a rather large flask.

Agatha guffawed and then took a sip. “Have to admit, that’s a first.”

“Innovation is my specialty,” Foxie offered with a grin. She used the hem of her skirt to wipe away Agatha’s lipstick before offering the flask to Ada.

“Oh, you’re ruining your lovely skirt,” Merry pointed out, frowning at the lipstick stains on the sheer fabric.

“I know how to get it out,” Foxie assured her. With a conspiratorial wink, she added, “Not the first time I’ve had another woman’s lipstick on my skirt.”

There was a ripple of laughter at the quip. Merry was still beaming, “Good to see you haven’t changed a bit, Dimity.”

That reminded Foxie Moxie, who extended a hand to Agatha, then Ada, “Dimity Drill’s the real name, by the way.”

The twins gave their real names, too. As did Marigold Mould, alias Merry Gold.

“Rather clever,” Agatha nodded towards Marigold and her stage name’s play on words.

“I like to think so,” the woman flashed a dazzling smile. There was a sharpness to it, but a pleasant one, Ada decided.

The women had to move to one side as a row of chorus girls came through, chatting and laughing. There couldn’t have been a single one over twenty-three, Ada realized. Memories of herself at that age, navigating the backstage of this very theatre with absolute ease, flooded her mind with a small smile.

“’Scuse me, ladies,” Dimity Drill maneuvered her way closer to the curtain, getting a better view of the stage. There was a slight twittering from the crew at the foot of the stage and Ada’s curiosity was fully claimed. She moved forward as well, craning her neck to see what the commotion was about.

Fire. Perfectly contained fire, blazing from the end of flashing silver fans. Held by the woman she’d nearly run over on the staircase.

The little interaction on the stairs had been mere seconds, but this seemed like an entirely different woman than the one Ada had briefly encountered. She was strong and sure, filled with a presence that pushed out across the stage, commanding attention. She chaînéd towards the camera, using it as her focal point for each whipping turn, keeping her fans dangerously close to her body.

Beside Ada, Agatha made a small noise of approval and amazement. Keeping her voice low so that only Ada could hear, she said, “Wouldn’t mind having _that_ six ways on a Sunday.”

For once, Ada had to agree. They didn’t usually share the same taste in women—at least not since Ada’s first girlfriend nearly forty years ago.

“Do the back-bend thing!” Dimity called out, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her words carried. Obviously she knew the fire fan dancer rather well.

The woman didn’t acknowledge Dimity, but she did follow her suggestion, turning away from the camera and setting into a lunge position. She bent back so that her gaze still caught the camera, fire fans slowly pulling back to reveal her face. It was pure drama. Ada felt a flash of heat across her chest, as if the flames were right in front of her.

“One of her best moves,” Dimity informed them, the pride evident in her tone. The woman stayed there for a remarkably long time, letting the camera man pull a slow circle around her, letting the still photographer grab a few shots as well. Ada felt she had to look away, eventually—the lines of the woman’s body became more obscene, the more she looked at it (maybe it wasn’t the woman’s body that was obscene, but rather Ada’s thoughts in response, she had to silently admit).

Julie officially announced that the promo shoot was a wrap, and everyone gave a cheer. Miss Tapioca appeared from the opposite stage wing with a large bucket of sand, which was used to snuff out the fire fans.

The woman bent slightly to fully submerge the tips of the fans into the sand, and Ada couldn’t help but decide that the sheer netting of her bottoms was absolutely perfect.

Dimity moved across the stage to the fan dancer and the rest of the women followed. The fire fan dancer turned at the sound of clacking heels and looked slightly startled when she saw them.

“Hecate Hardbroom, aka Miss Blanche Flambée,” Dimity motioned to the woman, who suddenly seemed a bit ill at ease—a complete juxtaposition to her commanding air during the shoot. “Meet Aggie and Addie, better known as Agatha and Ada Cackle offstage.”

“How do you do,” Hecate gave a small nod in their direction. She kept her fans firmly clenched in her grasp and made no offer to shake hands. Ada hoped it was because she was a germaphobe and not a diva.

Ada was beaming at her and Hecate found that she had to look away. It was a bit like looking at the sun. And under the stage lights, she was certain the blush she could feel creeping in to her cheeks would soon be blindingly evident.

“And you remember Marigold,” Dimity nodded towards the woman.

Now Hecate Hardbroom’s demeanor turned noticeably frosty. “Of course. How could I forget.”

“I’d settle for _forgive_ ,” Marigold returned with an easy smile, but the tension lining her voice still came through. “You look well, Hecate. A delight to see you, as always.”

Hecate didn’t have to look back over at the twins to know that they must be watching her in confusion (and perhaps disapproval, did Ada think she was awful?). She looked catty in this moment, petulant and bitchy and cruel. But no way in hell would she pretend to have any other feelings towards Marigold Mould than the ones she actually possessed.

Of course Marigold was being charming, as usual. Wide eyes and even wider smile, playing the wounded little bird act. Hecate was sure that she’d won the twins over within the first two minutes of meeting them. No one would believe her, even if she told them the truth.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she turned her head in the direction of the twins. She still couldn’t look at Ada, so she focused on the other one, Agatha. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

Having dismissed herself as politely as possible, she turned and left.

Marigold Mould gave a breathless, mirthless chuckle, sounding more irritated than amused. Dimity took a moment to glance between her and the retreating form of her best friend.

Hecate wasn’t the most subtle person on the planet, but she truly didn’t like making a scene. If Dimity went after her, that would be a bigger fuss than if she simply let her go. So Dimity stayed, knowing she’d have plenty of time to unpack that interaction later when they were alone.

Ada tried to keep her focus on Dimity as well, though her body shifted, turning in the direction of the woman who’d just left. Like a honing beacon, a magnet, a compass point.

* * *

Hecate mentally growled curses as she shimmied out of her bottoms and unhooked the thoroughly uncomfortable bra (rhinestones everywhere plus sensitive skin on the underside of her upper arms equaled hellish irritation). Within seconds, she was dressed in much more sensible clothing: crème linen pants and a loose black blouse. She spent far too long in front of the mirror, suddenly paralyzed over the decision of just how many buttons to leave undone.

With a rapid-fire series of knocks as a warning, Dimity Drill opened the door.

“Y’okay?” She waited until she’d fully closed the door again before asking. The theatre’s dressing rooms were all down one long corridor, making it fairly easy for someone to eavesdrop in passing.

Hecate merely nodded, looking down to fasten another button on her shirt. Dimity waited a beat, and then moved forward to change out of her costume. It seemed like a simple gesture, but Hecate was grateful for its intent—in that pause, Dimity was offering her the chance to expand on the situation that had just occurred. There would be no follow-up questions, no harassing her for the truth. Just a quiet opportunity to talk about it, and a gentle acceptance of whatever her choice would be.

Granted, Hecate _did_ want to talk. Just not about Marigold Mould. She wanted to mention how…nice the twins seemed ( _Ada, she wanted to talk about Ada, her smile and her lovely soft voice_ ). Perhaps ask Dimity's opinion on them. But she knew how it would look—Dimity would misconstrue it, would tease her about it, like an annoying little sister. And really, it wasn’t like that at all. Hecate just thought they seemed nice. Interesting. Pleasant.

Unlike Hecate, Dimity Drill had taken particular care in choosing her outfit for the day: wine colored jeans, a black graphic tee, and a grey corduroy blazer. She delicately removed her hair clips, which had been pinned within an inch of their lives to keep them in place while Dimity flipped and spun, and began styling her hair into a more relaxed look.

“We’re upping the subtlety, I see,” Hecate noted drolly. The grey blazer was always a sign that Dimity Drill was officially out to win. And Hecate had to agree, it was a flattering cut and did wonderful things for her shoulders.

Dimity hummed in amusement as she delicately removed the more dramatic aspects of her makeup. Then, with a final once-over, she nodded to her reflection before turning back to Hecate, “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Hecate grabbed her large leather bag and fans in response and they were out the door. She paused, just a second, just a half-step, to glance at the dressing room to the right of theirs. It was closed. She ducked her head and followed Dimity down the hallway.

The music hall was built a bit like a rabbit warren. From the stage, there ran a narrow set of steps which moved into a long corridor of dressing rooms, washrooms, and storage closets. The opposite end of the corridor hooked right and ended at the reception hall, where the performers mingled with guests after shows. From the reception hall ran another corridor, which contained the small rehearsal room, the offices of Julie and Algie, and the workshop for Mavis Spellbody, costumer. The corridor opened into the main foyer, which was also the main entrance.

It was entirely because of this layout that Dimity Drill happened to be passing by Julie Hubble’s office. Nothing more, of course. And she just happened to glance into the office whose open door was marked _Manager_ , just because it caught her eye. No particular reason, naturally.

And her heart fell just a little upon seeing the office was empty because that’s just what hearts did, sometimes. Of course.

Hecate Hardbroom noticed the shift in Dimity’s expression and said nothing. Her throat tightened at the steadily increasing feeling that her brave friend was sailing into uncharted waters. She found that she couldn’t even offer a snarky observation. It was too real, too frightening in its implications.

They entered the front foyer. There was a sound to their right and they both instinctively turned their attention to the double doors that led into the main theatre. Julie Hubble came into view, her face lighting up when she saw them.

“Hullo, you.” She was speaking directly to Dimity. “I’m a bit glad you didn’t try any stunts like that when we were up in the hoop together.”

Dimity laughed, quick and surprised. Julie’s pleased grin in response only added to the way Dimity’s tummy flipped and fluttered with butterflies.

“No promises next time,” Dimity informed her with a wink. Hecate found her eyes straining with the need to roll back into her head.

“The footage is great,” Julie was still grinning like an absolute fool. She motioned back into the theatre. “Wanna take a look?”

Somehow, Hecate felt that the invitation wasn’t really directed at her. Still, she followed the other two women into the theatre, where Algie and Gwen were already rewatching footage on a monitor. Even from a distance, Hecate could tell the figure on the screen was Marigold. Her jaw instinctively tightened and she felt a sudden impulse.

“I forgot something,” she announced. “In the dressing room.”

She set her bag and fans in one of the plush seats and made her way to the stairs at the side of the stage. Even without glancing back, she could feel Dimity’s momentary look of confusion directed at her. She let her long legs take the steps two at a time, easily moving around the stage curtains and slipping into the wings again. She took the second set of stairs into the dressing room corridor.

Her target was still in her dressing room, packing up her things.

“A word, Miss Mould.” Hecate stayed close to the doorframe, but she closed the door behind her.

Marigold made a little noise, obviously startled by Hecate’s sudden appearance. However, she recovered quickly. “Ah, Hecate. How can I help you?”

“Stay. Away.” It took every ounce of self-control Hecate had not to add a hiss to her words.

“Well that’s a bit impossible, as we are in a show together—”

“You know what I mean,” Hecate’s tone was quick and cutting. She moved forward now, pulling herself to her full height and keeping her shoulders as straight as possible. She wasn’t one for violence, but the _threat_ of violence had been a great weapon in her arsenal. “You come in, you do your work, and you keep your distance, do you understand?”

Marigold gave a small, breathless laugh, “Hecate, really, this is—”

“This _isn’t_ , and it would best to remember that _this_ is me being calm and rational about it,” Hecate informed her. “I don’t think you’d like to see what happens when I’m truly upset.”

Marigold’s face remained impassive, but Hecate was close enough to see the quick widening of her eyes, the momentary flash of fear and belief. Good, then. Her work here was done.

There was a noise in the hallway—two voices, the twins, talking as they made their way down the corridor. Hecate felt another pin-prick along her spine. However she quelled the impulse to run out into the hall—Marigold would misconstrue the body language, would think it was because of her, and Hecate had to make sure her threat stood on solid ground. So she slowly withdrew and walked back to the door.

“Dimity can make her own choices, you know,” Marigold grew bolder without Hecate looming over her. “She is more than capable—”

“She is,” Hecate turned back around. “But she should be spared the stress of dealing with _you_ , don’t you think?”

Marigold blinked, hard. Hecate could tell her words had hit their mark.

Still, Marigold tried one last time, “What would she say, if she knew you were here?”

Hecate gave a quick, tight smile. She left, without further explanation.

Truth be told, Dimity would be _livid_ if she knew that Hecate had pulled such a stunt. But in the end, she would have to quietly admit that if the tables had been turned, she would probably have done the same thing. Though Hecate had no intention of Dimity ever finding out. She had been absolutely honest when she’d said that Dimity didn’t need the stress of Marigold in her life again—and she’d do anything in her power to ensure that it never became an issue.

She looked down the corridor, down the route she knew the twins had taken. They were long gone by now. She turned the opposite direction, hurrying back up the stairs and coming around the corner of the stage to enter the theatre again.

“Couldn’t find it?” Dimity asked, noting her empty hands.

“Ah, yes, apparently I hadn’t forgotten anything,” Hecate looked down at her hands as well. It was obvious that Dimity knew she’d been up to something, but Hecate was safe, for now—Dimity wouldn’t ask in a room full of people.

“Perfect timing—your shot’s next,” Algie piped up. Hecate moved closer to watch the footage, though she didn’t much care. She felt a small measure of disappointment that she’d taken so long with Marigold—she would have liked to see Ada’s footage. Granted, she did see it being filmed, but still.

Hecate found that she couldn’t really pay attention to the monitor. She kept glancing at the set of open double doors which led to the front foyer. Depending on how quickly they walked, the twins might pass by any moment. She wasn’t sure why it mattered.

The footage was finished and so was their excuse for hanging around. Dimity and Hecate said their goodbyes and headed back up the inclined aisle.

Out of instinct, Hecate glanced around. The foyer and the corridor were empty. Somehow she had missed them (missed _her_ ).

She followed Dimity out the door. Again, she was unable to resist the urge to look around for any sign, any flash of blonde.

Disappointment rippled through her veins and sunk into her stomach. The sensation of _missing_ was so strong that she stopped moving for a full beat, trying to figure out why the hell she was reacting this way.

She was suddenly struck with a feeling of danger.


	6. Act 1, Scene 6: The Hint of Inevitability

It had been well over a week since Pippa had called Ursula, telling her that she had the footage from their old performances. But Ursula’s calendar had been jam-packed and she couldn’t make the time to watch. While they’d been functional in their previous relationship as vocal coach and parent-paying-for-vocal-coach, this new increase in contact was still uneasy for both. For Pippa, it was realizing that their mutual past didn’t share the same mutual memories. For Ursula, it was realizing that she was opening a Pandora’s box into her present life.

She still hadn’t told her husband. She would, of course. Just…not yet.

Besides, what was there to tell, currently? They hadn’t started rehearsing yet, though Ursula had adjusted her diet and upped her fitness routines in preparation (sadly, that wasn't something her husband had even noticed, nor had she expected him to). She and Pippa occasionally texted or had the odd phone call. Today was the first day they were actually doing anything, and all they were doing was watching some dusty old videos.

Ursula knew she was stalling. She just didn’t know why.

She dropped Sybil off at school and walked the few blocks to the address that Pippa had texted her the night before. She was surprised to learn that Pippa lived so close to her own house. It made sense—Pippa was a voice teacher at Sybil’s school, and most of her clientele were in this neighbor, so of course she should make her home somewhere nearby—but for some reason, Ursula had always imagined that Pippa’s life occurred in a distant realm, far away from her own.

Pippa answered before she even had a chance to knock.

“I saw you through the window,” she supplied, noting Ursula’s confusion. She suppressed a small smirk as she took in Ursula’s outfit (did the woman own anything other than twinsets?), but Ursula still saw it, still felt a flash of irritation at the micro-expression.

“I have a lunch meeting,” Ursula informed her, moving into the front foyer of the tidy little house. Unsurprisingly, the walls were filled with various accolades and awards, both for her teaching skills and from her students’ achievements as well. Once again, Ursula knew that she’d chosen the best vocal coach for her daughters.

“You’ll be long gone before then,” Pippa assured her, leading the way into the cozy den, where she’d already set up the VHS player that Gwen had graciously lent, along with all the tapes. She wondered now if Ursula was going to be this low-key obstinate the entire time—if so, it was going to be a long four months.

Ursula could feel Pippa’s irritation simmering off her shoulders in waves. She pushed down her own spike in irritation. Of course, Pippa had every right to be upset with her snippy attitude. After all, Pippa had been nothing but eager to work with her again, had opened her home to Ursula, and Ursula had been a stroppy cow from the jump. She took a long breath through her nose, trying to release her irritation as she exhaled. She had to try to be nicer to Pippa. She wasn’t sure why she was like this, but Ursula knew that in general, she wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around. She shouldn’t punish Pippa, especially when _she_ was the one who’d said yes.

“I’m honestly not sure I want to see the old tapes,” Ursula admitted, lightly settling onto the deep purple couch. She glanced around the room—it looked like a Moroccan hookah den, with silks covering the ceiling and brightly colored pillows splayed across the furniture, all etched with delicate gold needlework.

Pippa looked over and saw the apprehension lightly ghosting over the woman’s features. She realized with a flash of surprise that Ursula was being…vulnerable. Trying to start an actual conversation.

She offered a smile of reassurance, “It can’t be too bad.”

A few minutes later, as they saw their own faces, twenty-seven years younger and wearing decidedly 90s makeup, Pippa had to admit defeat.

“Oh, god, what were we thinking?” She breathed, still trying to wrap her head around the three baby faces staring back at her. How had her eyebrows survived being plucked so ridiculously thin? And who had decided that screaming neon pink eye shadow was a good look? 

“We weren’t,” Ursula’s tone was low, too. “That’s the only explanation.”

“You know, our moves were really quite good,” Pippa admitted.

“Nice moves,” Ursula agreed. “Terrible, terrible fashion choices.”

Pippa fast-forwarded to their next number. Instantaneously, both women burst into laughter at the outrageous amount to leopard print on display.

“This is worse than I could have ever imagined,” Ursula decreed, clapping a hand over her mouth in a mixture of humor and horror.

“I’m not sure I want to watch the rest of the tapes,” Pippa admitted, once the number was over. She hit the rewind button on the remote.

“Oh, we have to,” Ursula countered. “We’re committed. It’s too late to back out now.”

Pippa hummed in amused agreement. Once the tape was finished, she switched it out for another one and settled back onto the couch. She glanced over to see the smile playing across Ursula’s face—this was probably the most relaxed she’d seen the woman in years.

Perhaps the next four months wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Hecate should stop now. She absolutely shouldn’t do what she was about to do.

She took another sip of her wine, eyeing the laptop on her coffee table. She should get up and walk away. Do some laundry or scrub the kitchen counters. Do something, _anything_ other than what she was considering doing.

Another sip of wine. A glance at the clock. Takeaway would be here in twenty minutes. She could just let herself give in to impulse for twenty minutes. That was nothing. A mere blip of time.

With a sudden flush of determination, she did it. Set down her wine, grabbed her laptop and perched it in her lap. It didn’t take her long to find the promotional website for the Twins.

This was ridiculous. Stalkerish. Obsessive. And yet…here she was. Clicking through photos of past performances, old show posters, and smiling shots of the women at various receptions and galas.

It was even easier to tell them apart in photos, Hecate realized. Something in the smile, something different behind the eyes.

That’s why she was zooming in on a particular photo of Ada, mid-laugh at some reception, champagne glass lightly clutched in her hand. To note the differences, naturally.

The callbox at Hecate’s front door buzzed, and she nearly jumped out of her own skin. She blinked slowly, turning her attention to the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes, already? She resolutely closed the browser tab and went to get her food.

Morgana was most interested in her shrimp lo mein. She sat at Hecate’s feet, looking up with calm expectancy, fluffy black tail occasionally fluttering, as if silently reminding her human that she was still here, still waiting.

Hecate rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. She went into the kitchen, removed a single shrimp from the box, and thoroughly washed away any sauce or seasoning. Morgana was already at her ankles again, giving a small mewls of impatience.

“Spoiled brat,” Hecate leaned over, letting Morgana take the shrimp from her hand. The black tail rose and twittered happily, like a banner. Hecate stroked the cat for a few beats, shaking her head at how her life was ruled by an eight pound tyrant.

She wondered what Ada’s life was like, in quiet moments like this. She wondered how insane it made her, to wonder such a thing.

“Maybe I’ve just been alone too long,” she conceded quietly. Morgana’s only response was a happy purr as she continued munching away on her shrimp. “Maybe this is how the madness begins.”

She was being droll, but underneath was a real fear. She’d spent most of her life trying not to be her mother, and yet, maybe this was exactly how she became her. If nothing else, Hecate could at least appreciate the irony of the situation.

She tossed out the rest of her dinner, too preoccupied to eat. The sinking feeling of danger she’d felt outside the theatre, the day she’d met Ada Cackle, returned.

* * *

Something was wrong. Dimity couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt it, all the same. Still, she forced a smile and forced herself to concentrate on what Francesca was saying.

Francesca was a nice girl. Wonderful laugh and an easy, lazy smile that complimented hooded eyes and a relaxed nature. She was coy, but not too cool. Always leaning in, as if she were sharing a secret with Dimity. And when they’d first met, Dimity had been quite eager to share any secret with Francesca. Now that feeling wasn’t nearly as intense.

Maybe Dimity was just losing interest. It’s what she did, after all.

“To finally having that drink,” Francesca drawled, lifting her martini in toast. Dimity mimicked her gesture, letting their glasses clink.

Dimity sipped her drink and silently wondered why it had taken her so long to take Francesca out. They’d met just over two weeks ago, and even then it had been evident that Francesca was interested. Normally Dimity struck while the iron was hot, quickly maneuvering a date within a week.

She glanced up, surreptitiously taking in Francesca’s features while the woman was looking elsewhere. Francesca still looked exactly the same. Still smiled the same, still looked at Dimity the same. What had changed?

The only noticeable change in Dimity’s life over the past two weeks had been the addition of Esper Vespertilio’s anniversary show.

And the addition of Julie Hubble into her life, however minor that presence might currently be.

_Julie Hubble isn’t here right now. Francesca is_. Dimity reminded herself, pushing herself to focus on her current companion. There was a wary look in Francesca’s eyes and Dimity realized that her distraction must be obvious.

She tried to steer to safer waters. She asked Francesca about her week, and tried to focus solely on her. On her smile (not quite as bright as Julie’s), her hair (much tamer than Julie’s), the way her hands moved gracefully as she talked (not nearly as animated as Julie).

It was a losing battle, and it wasn’t fair. Dimity couldn’t continue to put the woman through this. Francesca was lovely, she deserved someone who could simply have a conversation with her, without imagining another woman.

So Dimity skipped out much earlier than planned—she let their conversation wind down, paid for their drinks, thanked Francesca for the lovely time, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and headed home, trying not to feel too badly about the disappointment in her date’s face at the sudden end to their evening.

Dimity revved her motorbike’s engine, letting it settle into a purr as she re-adjusted the strap on her helmet. Slowly, she slipped into traffic, her mind practically on auto-pilot as she navigated the few blocks to her flat. Once she pulled into her garage, she simply sat on the bike for a few moments, her mind processing exactly what had just happened.

There was really only one course of action now, she realized. She was going to have to take Julie Hubble on a date.

* * *

Ada took a long, deep breath as she tucked her hands into her jumper pockets. She rounded the street corner and smiled at the sight that greeted her—the alleyway was strung with globe lights, bobbing playfully in the late-night breeze. She simply took a moment to appreciate the sight before slipping her camera out of her bag and taking a photo.

It had started as a way to deal with the odd bouts of insomnia, after her shows. Walking the streets of whatever city they were currently in, late at night. She kept seeing so many lovely things, kept stopping and trying to burn the images into her memory. Eventually she bought a camera, read a few books, and even took a class on photography. Now her home was filled with photos from her travels. Happy little reminders, little proofs that she had, in fact, done the things she’d remembered doing.

It was hard to explain the last part. The need for physical proof of her life. Maybe because for so much of her life, she’d been with Agatha, had always had someone to witness, to corroborate, to say _yes, it did happen exactly like this, you remember correctly_.

She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten like this, how she had started to sometimes doubt the memories of her own mind. It had started around the time that she’d fallen in love for the first time. The girl who’d held her hand on the way home from school, the girl who’d been her first kiss, the girl who had been her first promise of forever, had somehow become Agatha’s girlfriend, in the end.

_It was always there_ , Agatha had told her, so confidently, so matter-of-factly that Ada thought it must be true. _You just didn’t see it—you didn’t notice the way she looked at me, or the way she laughed at my jokes, because you didn’t want to see it. You chose to blind yourself to the truth because you wanted her to love you._

Ada tried not to make that mistake ever again. But sometimes she got the heavy suspicion that she still misunderstood—that she read too much into a smile, that she misconstrued a friendly nature for genuine romantic interest, that she saw a friend in someone who merely tolerated her out of politeness. That she was just too much, too quick and too deep and too…everything.

Agatha had been there to witness her life, for so long. To tell her what she’d imagined or misconstrued, to tell her what was real and true. But over the past few years, Agatha had been there less and less. And so had Ada’s sense of surety.

And so her camera had become a security blanket. She could remember the warm beauty of the globe lights dancing on their strands, and then glance at the photo framed on her wall—and she could know, with smiling certainty, that yes, it had been exactly as she remembered. She hadn’t somehow convoluted the image in her mind.

She absolutely refused to consider what that implied about her mental state.

Instead, she pushed herself to focus on the present, lowering her camera to look at the lights again, a soft smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. Then she made her way through the alleyway, feeling the pulse of music beating against her skin as she moved past the back entrance to some techno club.

Not for the first time that night, she wondered if this was a place that Hecate Hardbroom might frequent. That maybe if she went in, she might see the tall woman’s frame in the crowd, that she might run into her, that they might start a conversation about…anything. She’d wondered this as she’d walked past bookshops and coffee shops and wine bars and pubs. Each location had produced a different scenario, a different conversation they might have.

There it was again—Ada’s too muchness, she knew. She wasn’t even sure why she felt such a sudden interest in the woman who really hadn’t done or said anything to encourage such a feeling. She just hoped she would be able to keep it from becoming too big of a problem, when she returned to London for rehearsals in a month.

Once she reached the end of the alley, Ada took a beat to look both ways, considering her options. On a pure whim, she headed right, further away from the hotel (years of getting lost in various locales had created within her an excellent sense of direction). After a block, the street decidedly turned more residential. Still, the architecture was nice and Ada got a few snaps of various arches and other details, all dramatically chiaroscuroed by the night.

What if Hecate lived here? What if she just happened to pop out her front door for a walk, a drink, a smoke? What if she saw Ada again, in the lamplight? Would she even remember Ada’s face? Would she pretend not to notice her, would she come over a start a conversation?

The thought of Miss Hardbroom, looming over her in the dramatic shadows of the street lights, made Ada’s chest tighten.

Ada had to laugh at herself, shaking her head slightly in an attempt to dislodge the image. Maybe she shouldn’t be worried about her memory—maybe she should worry about her imagination, and how quickly it flew to such flights of fancy.

Despite her best attempts, it was not the last time that she found herself thinking about Hecate Hardbroom, as she quietly made her way through the streets of London.

And a week later, when she hung the framed photographs on her wall, Ada found that the pictures only reminded her of the things she’d been thinking about (the _woman_ she’d been thinking about) when each and every one was taken.


	7. Act 2, Scene 1: A Handful of Glitter in the Air

It was nearly three weeks before Dimity had a chance to see Julie Hubble again. It was a busy time of year for the Amethyst Dance Academy—the annual spring recital meant weeks of photo shoots, costume fittings, tech rehearsals, and overseeing ticket sales and making sure programs were printed correctly, all while juggling input and demands from the various parents. Then there was the round of small gifts and flowers for the girls who were graduating the ballet academy (and making sure there was a box of tissues backstage for HB, who would mysteriously develop allergies while giving out the flowers, becoming a watery-eyed mess by the time she finished).

Once the recital was officially wrapped, then came the prep work for summer sessions. However, Dimity found a way to use this to her advantage—she sent Julie Hubble a quick email, mentioning that a six-week session for trapeze hoop training would be opening up, if Mildred was still interested.

Julie had responded that she would like to tour the academy first. Just to get a better idea of what exactly the session might entail. Without Mildred, of course, because she didn’t want to get her hopes up just yet.

Dimity had never been more nervous to give a studio tour. She suddenly became hyper-aware of the spot on the hallway wall that needed to be repainted, and how the hoop’s safety tape was fraying a bit at the edges. She wondered if they needed to replace the carpet in the foyer or if the bulletin board looked too messy, too disorganized.

Julie didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind. She was smiling softly and listening to Dimity with rapt attention as she explained all the safety precautions taken during the sessions.

“For the first few months—and the entirety of this session, obviously—the girls practice on hoops that are only three to six feet off the ground,” Dimity always started with the biggest impediment a parent might have to enrolling their child in hoop lessons. “And we keep tumbling mats underneath, to cushion any falls. Though the girls rarely ever need them.”

The corner of Julie’s mouth hitched even higher. “You haven’t really seen Millie in action, yet. Let’s just say it’s rather fortunate that I didn’t name her Grace.”

Dimity laughed at the quip. “Well, even if she does fall a dozen times, she’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll make sure to keep her hoop particularly low to the ground.”

There was something sparkly in Julie’s eyes when she beamed at Dimity again, and Dimity felt her lungs tighten in response. The tour continued and all too soon Julie Hubble was back in the foyer, holding some pamphlets and still smiling in that way that made Dimity feel a little unhinged.

“Well, I—thank you, for this,” Julie held up the pamphlets. “For all of it, really. Just—it was really lovely of you, to make time. I’m sure you’re very busy—”

“I have all the time in the world,” Dimity assured her. She motioned to the empty studio, “Classes don’t start again for another week, so I’m basically sat around twiddling my thumbs for now.”

“Oh.” Julie perked up a bit. “Perhaps you would like to—if you don’t have any other plans of course—join me for the afternoon. The show posters just came back from the printers, so I’ll be spending the next few hours placing them in pubs and clubs around town. I mean, it’s not particularly exciting or fun—”

“Depends on the company,” Dimity gave a smooth smile.

Julie ducked her head, her cheeks stinging from how deeply she was grinning. “I suppose so.”

“I’m in.”

“Really?” Julie looked back up, so obviously shocked that Dimity had to laugh.

In that moment, Dimity realized that Julie Hubble might be quite braver than she’d first imagined. The woman had asked Dimity to join her, but her reaction implied that she’d done so fully expecting a rejection. That was rather brave, in Dimity’s book. Tenacious, even, perhaps.

“Really,” Dimity repeated. “Just let me get my things.”

Dimity locked up the studio in record time and soon found herself in the passenger seat of Julie’s car, a stack of glossy flyers in her lap. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was kind of a date.

Whatever it was, she’d take it.

* * *

Ursula Hallow paced the hallway, chewing her bottom lip nervously. It was the final vocal competition of the academic year and the school chosen to host was…less than standard. Briefly, she wondered who chose these things. She heard the music begin inside the closed classroom and she stopped, straining to hear.

Sybil was the only one who let her sit in on the competitions. Esme and Ethel always claimed that she made them too nervous. Ethel was currently performing for the judges, which was why Ursula was stuck out in the hallway, like some kind of secret.

Ursula had to admit, the feeling was most likely inspired by her own clandestine actions, as of late. She and Pippa were due to begin their rehearsals this very week, and she still hadn’t told her family.

It wasn’t the telling that was a problem, she realized. It was the _how_.

How did one just sit down to dinner and announce something like that? _By the by, remember Miss Pentangle, your beloved sweet voice teacher? Well, she used to dance with Mummy in very skimpy costumes. And guess what? We’re doing it again! Isn’t that lovely?_

How did one just casually mention to their husband that there was a part of their life that had never been shared, even after a quarter century spent sharing so much?

Part of Ursula had wanted to get caught. To have Charles, her husband, notice all the changes of late—her workout routines, her eating habits, the sudden influx of texts she sometimes got whenever Pippa was carried away by an idea for costuming or music or whatever—and say something. What a relief it would be, to have the conversation started for her. But if he did notice, he never asked.

That part was the most uncomfortable. Because if he didn’t notice all of that, what did that say about how much he paid attention to his wife? And if he did notice but didn’t say anything, what did _that_ say about how much he cared?

What hurt worse—being unseen or being seen with total apathy? Ursula’s shoulders tightened as she considered the question.

_Projecting, you’re projecting. Charles isn’t a mind-reader. You have to communicate._ Her inner voice reminded her—the voice was hers but the words were her therapist’s. _And why should he notice these little things? Half the time he misses family dinner for work, so he has no idea how often you choose salad over the rest of the meal. And how could he know you’ve been working out more? You exercise while he’s at work and he certainly hasn’t seen you naked in quite some time._

The last thought made her blanche. Her inner voice was right, of course, but it wasn’t something she had realized until now.

That seemed like the kind of thing one should notice. So why hadn’t she?

The door to the classroom opened and she realized the music had stopped. Ethel breezed by her, wearing a smug expression that didn’t quite sit fully on her features—oh, her little angry middle child, always masking fear and worry with indifference or superiority. Ursula’s fingers twitched with the desire to smooth that already-perfect blonde ponytail, to have one little moment of affection. But she knew full well that she’d be rewarded with a hissed _Mother!_ and a snappish expression. She was at that age, now.

Ethel headed down the hall, where several other girls were waiting. Sybil was back there as well, further down the row of chairs lined against the wall, looking even smaller than usual.

A hand lightly brushed against the small of her back and Ursula jumped slightly, turning around to meet Pippa Pentangle’s smiling face.

“She did well,” Pippa assured her. “Absolutely pitch-perfect.”

Ursula let out the breath she’d unconsciously been holding. “Good. That’s good.”

Normally, this is where their interaction would end. But they were creating a new normal now.

“Did you see the sketches that Mavis sent over?” Pippa held up her cellphone to punctuate her question.

Ursula shook her head, frowning. Pippa moved to the other side of the hallway; Ursula followed. Pippa quickly found the email and pulled up the sketches. There were three different options, ranging from tribal to modern.

“Preference?” Pippa asked quietly, her face still glued to the screen.

Ursula fought to urge to say that it was up to Pippa. But she knew that this was part of Pippa trying to make up for their past, for all the times that she and Hecate had made all of the decisions, with very little input from Ursula. So Ursula needed to accept this olive branch.

“Flip through again,” Ursula said. She found herself quickly adding, “Please.”

Pippa complied. This time, however, Ursula focused on how long Pippa stayed on each image.

“The second, I think,” Ursula finally decreed. She felt the way Pippa’s shoulders relaxed and she knew that she’d chosen the one Pippa liked best.

“My favorite, too,” Pippa admitted. Ursula felt a small wash of victory, though she wasn’t sure why it mattered. Pippa looked up, shifting away slightly when she realized how closely they were standing, “So I’ll let Mavis know?”

It should have been a statement, not a question. But again, Ursula understood that Pippa was trying to rein in her bulldozer tendencies. So she simply nodded in confirmation.

Pippa focused on her phone again and Ursula headed back down the hall to wait with Sybil, who was always nervous during these types of competitions. She passed Ethel, caught the way her daughter’s gaze flickered over to her, only briefly, before returning her attention to her friends. Ethel wouldn’t want her mother embarrassing her in front of the other girls, so Ursula didn’t reach out, didn’t say anything as she walked by. When she sat next to Sybil, she glanced back to see Ethel watching her with an unreadable expression.

Oh, her middle child was too much like her, sometimes. Desperate to be seen and loved, yet disdainful of those who gave the attention she craved. It was a problem that had plagued Ursula her entire life, something defective about her personality that was a beast to overcome. She wasn’t sure why, and even after years of therapy, she still had no answer.

The clacking of Pippa’s bright pink heels echoed down the hall like a herald, her blonde ponytail bobbing in-synch with the sound. She took a moment to speak to Ethel. The girls all twittered over her white dress with the pink peonies the size of dinnerplates printed across it. She looked like she should be at a garden party, not a children’s vocal competition, Ursula thought.

Then Pippa glanced up and beamed at Ursula again. Like Ethel, Ursula’s first instinct wasn’t to smile back—but she forced herself to do so anyways.

She could change, she told herself. She could show Ethel that change was possible. Maybe help Ethel sooner than she was able to help herself, maybe make a difference. Maybe break whatever curse she’d put upon the child for being born too much like her mother.

After complimenting Ethel again, Pippa clacked her way over to Sybil, sliding into the seat next to Ursula’s daughter and lightly placing her arm around her. Ursula felt a pang of envy for how easily Pippa made the small gesture of affection look, as if it didn’t require thought at all.

“All good?” Pippa dipped her head down, closer to Sybil’s eye level.

Sybil gave a quick, small nod. Her eyes were the size of saucers, a sure sign that she was still nervous. After a beat, she said, “Ethel’s going to win her division, isn’t she?”

Ursula’s heart tugged at the question—it couldn’t be easy, being the youngest Hallow daughter. Not when both of her siblings were competitive and adapted to excelling in tense situations.

“I hope so,” Pippa’s warm smile never wavered. “And I know that you can do the same.”

She tightened her grip around Sybil’s shoulders for a brief squeeze. “I know you’ll do your best, no matter what—and that’s all that matters. Even if you don’t win—even if Ethel or Esme doesn’t win—it won’t mean that you didn’t work very hard, or that you weren’t very brave in doing this competition.”

Sybil nodded in agreement. Her little shoulders relaxed. Ursula’s throat tightened and she fought down another wave of jealousy—she should be the one giving this pep talk to her daughter, but she also knew she’d never be able to find those kinds of words, to truly instill a sense of calm.

Pippa sat back slightly, never letting her arm retreat from its grip around Sybil. Over the small blonde head, she offered Ursula another quick smile of reassurance.

This time, Ursula found that her first instinct was to smile back. Without any hesitation at all.

* * *

 

“Hiya, Mack,” Julie breezed into the pub with an air of familiarity that immediately piqued Dimity’s curiosity.

“Hullo yourself, Julie Hubble,” the bartender leaned onto the bar, giving Julie a warm beam. He was an easy sixty years, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee that would have been laughable on a lesser man. His sinewy arms were covered in tattoos, some of which denoted his service in the armed forces.

Dimity watched Julie’s expression and wondered if this was Julie’s type. Gruff, buff northerners with tattoos for days. While Dimity prided herself on her ability to woo a woman, she really couldn’t compete with something that was such a polar opposite to herself.

“I’ve got some new flyers to post ‘round,” Julie’s own accent became a bit heavier, a bit closer to Mack’s.

“Let’s have a look-see,” he held out his large hands, gently taking the flyer Julie offered. He grazed over the images and then looked directly up at Dimity. “Well, I didn’t realize you would be bringing one of the stars of the show with you.”

Now Julie was blushing ( _interesting_ , Dimity noted). “Ah, this is Dimity Drill. Dimity, this is Mack—he owns the place.”

Dimity gave a nod of greeting, which Mack returned.

“He’s also the most heavy-handed pour on a cocktail you’ll ever meet,” Julie gave him a knowing grin. “A blessing and a curse.”

“Only for my favorites,” he assured her.

_Interesting_ , Dimity thought again. Julie was a favorite. Was Mack one of Julie’s favorites in return?

Julie merely laughed, a light, airy little sound that came from the throat rather than the stomach. Mack returned the flyer and motioned for her to post them wherever she wanted. Julie winked as she expressed her thanks before heading to the bulletin board at the back of the pub.

She borrowed some tape to fix another flyer at the front entrance, which was plastered with various events and concerts. Then with one last wave and a smile big enough to light up the London Eye, she led Dimity back outside.

“That’s one down,” Julie fished her cell out of her back pocket. She found the list of pubs and clubs she’d made on her phone and checked off this particular establishment.

“Mack seems nice,” Dimity pointed out.

“He is,” Julie agreed. She slipped her aviator shades out of her shirt pocket and put them back on her face. “But I’m serious about the drink thing—he makes ‘em strong.”

Dimity gave an amused hum as she followed Julie down the sidewalk. There was a strip of pubs on this street, and it was evident that Julie knew the barkeeps and staff at each and every one. Any lingering worries Dimity Drill might have had about Mack’s relationship with Julie were quickly put to rest—she realized that _this_ was Julie in business mode.

She laughed at all the quips, regardless of whether they were funny. She never stopped beaming that heart-stopping smile, never lost her airy, almost-flirty demeanor with each person she met.

She was a bit dangerous, Dimity realized. The woman was a grade-A charmer. She knew how to use every weapon in her arsenal and she did it in a way that never seemed fake or manipulative. Dimity could see why Algie had tapped her to take over the role of manager. She couldn’t imagine anyone not giving Julie exactly what she wanted, whenever she smiled like that.

But every charm has its price. Once they walked out of their fifth bar, Julie have a long, low exhale. The energy required to be so upbeat and affable was beginning to take its toll.

“One more, and then we’ll get back in the car,” Julie informed her, nodding towards the club across the street. Dimity had already taken the stack of flyers away from her, attempting to be chivalrous and feel like she was at least contributing to the scenario in some way. Julie really didn’t need her help—which made Dimity actually feel a bit giddy, because it meant that Julie had asked her to come along for personal reasons.

The club had a glass front that was completely blacked out. Dimity opened the door and let Julie slip inside first.

The second they crossed the threshold, Dimity knew that something was wrong. There was shouting from the bar area, the sounds of a scuffle.

Everything happened too quickly—the two figures barreling around the corner, a big burly bloke who had to be the bouncer and a twitchy smaller fellow who definitely was under the influence of something, both yelling at each other. They bowled straight into Julie Hubble, who tumbled backwards. Dimity caught her, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning around so that her back shielded them from anything else.

The scrawny guy was still kicking and screeching as the bouncer set him out on the sidewalk with one last, “And fucking _stay_ out, mate!”

Julie relaxed a bit, once she realized it was over. Dimity released her grip and shifted back, giving the blonde space. Julie turned back to her with a soft look of amazement.

“Thank you,” she said softly. The expression on her face was so overwhelming, Dimity had to look away.

The bouncer came back inside and actually noticed the two women for the first time.

“Jules?” His face was awash with surprise.

“Hiya, Terry,” Julie tried to slip back into her usual saleswoman smile, but it was a little wobbly.

“Let me help you,” he moved forward. For the first time, Dimity realized that she’d dropped all of the flyers in her attempt to protect Julie.

Apparently, Julie hadn’t noticed either. She gave a soft _oh!_ and crouched down to help Terry gather up all the papers. Dimity helped as well and within a matter of seconds, the flyers were recollected and back in a proper stack.

“Guess I don’t have to ask why you’re dropping by,” Terry smiled, nodding towards the flyers.

Julie laughed, pulling out five flyers and handing them to him. “Give ‘em to Luna when she’s in. She knows where to put them.”

“Sure thing. And sorry—about before—”

“No worries,” Julie flashed another warm smile. She nodded towards Dimity, “Luckily I had a knight in shining armor on call.”

Something at the corner of her eyes softened and Dimity felt both a spark of hope and a flutter of despair—because no way in heaven or hell would she be able to get over this crush if Julie kept looking at her _like that._

They said their goodbyes and left the club. Thankfully, the guy who’d been tossed out had not hung around. They waited at the crosswalk, silently watching the cars go by.

After a beat, Julie asked, “What time is it?”

“Going on five,” Dimity answered, after glancing at her phone.

“Lemme buy you a drink?”

Dimity was not prepared for such a question. She looked over at Julie, whose expression was made unreadable by her sunglasses.

“Sure,” she finally answered. Julie flashed another smile. It made Dimity feel quite bold. “Actually, I know just the place.”

“Do you, now?” Julie’s voice had the slightest hint of teasing. They made their way across the street.

“It’ll be fun,” Dimity assured her.

“I never doubted that,” Julie returned easily. Dimity felt a light rush in her cheeks.

* * *

 

The Havana Lounge was practically empty this early in the evening, and Dimity was grateful for the quieter atmosphere. She’d chosen the location for two reasons: she was relatively certain that Julie wouldn’t know the staff, and she adored the colorful atmosphere. It was sleek, without being pretentious. Playful, without being overblown.

Except she generally didn’t take dates to this place. She’d been several times with HB or another friend, but she’d made a point of never bringing a romantic interest. She didn’t want the placed burned for her, in a way.

This thing with Julie wasn’t a date, though—was it? It was just two…what were they, exactly? Almost friends? Technically colleagues? Potential lovers? Drinking buddies?

Dimity tried to push the questions from her mind as she selected a hightop table for two, perfectly situated between the bar and the dancefloor, where a few early birds were going through salsa routines. After getting Julie’s first drink order, Dimity opened a tab at the bar (with Julie’s card, as the blonde had been absolutely insistent, as _she_ was the one who’d asked Dimity). She returned a few moments later with a margarita for herself and a white wine for Julie.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that your first drink out the gate would be something bold,” Julie nodded towards the margarita, which was bedecked with a fruit skewer.

“Well, I’ll spend the next hour or so nursing it,” Dimity confessed. “I have found that my liver doesn’t keep up like it used to.”

Julie hummed in understanding. She raised her glass in toast, “To aging livers.”

Dimity echoed the toast through a grin. She liked Julie—not that she wasn’t already aware of that fact, but the more she got to know the woman, the more she liked about her.

Julie’s phone burbled in notification, and she glanced at it, her expression softening a bit more. “Ah, bless. Millie’s staying over at Mavis Spellbody’s tonight—Mavis’ daughter Maud is in Millie’s class at school, they’re best friends. Apparently, they’re having a grand old time.”

Julie held up her phone to show Dimity a photo, obviously sent by Mavis. Mildred and another young girl were caught in a candid moment, playing what looked like a very animated round of charades. Dimity smiled at the joy seeping through every aspect of the photo.

“Must be nice,” Dimity pointed out. “Having a bit of built-in family at the music hall.”

“It is,” Julie admitted, smiling at the photo one last time before putting her phone away again. “Algie and Gwen have been absolute lifesavers, time and again. I’d been working with them for a few years when I got pregnant with Mildred, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if they hadn’t stepped in to help.”

Dimity tried to remain delicate, “And Mildred’s father…?”

Julie waved away the idea. “A fling that was over long before I knew I was pregnant.”

Then she looked straight into Dimity’s eyes as she added, “Also the last man I ever dated.”

Oh.  _Oh_. Dimity knew her eyes were wide, but she couldn’t help herself. Regardless of what they were together, Julie Hubble was making it clear who she was as a person.

“Well then,” Dimity raised her drink again. “As a delegate of the lady-lovin’ ladies league, I thank him deeply for sending you to our side.”

Julie laughed at that, raising her glass in agreement. After they took a drink, she added, “I won’t say that I’d never date another man again, just…I tend to find women more fascinating.”

She emphasized the last word with another glance in Dimity’s direction. Dimity wasn’t entirely certain if her directness was an invitation or simple honesty about herself.

“I have _always_ found women more fascinating,” Dimity admitted. “So I totally get the sentiment.”

Julie smiled into her drink, as if she’d expected that exact answer.

An hour later, the conversation had spanned everything from Dimity’s journey in building a dance studio with Hecate, to Julie’s woes as a mum, to places they’d traveled, and even whom their childhood crushes had been. Dimity finally finished her first margarita as Julie sipped her third glass of wine.

The lounge was slowly filling up, the music grew louder to be heard over the buzz of conversation, and the dance floor became more crowded. Julie was gigglier, more animated as she told her stories, eyes shining as she listened to Dimity’s in turn.

A hen party entered the lounge and the bar was flooded with women desperate to get absolutely plastered. Dimity and Julie watched the women’s antics with amusement as they goaded each other on and ordered another round of shots.

“Doesn’t seem like quite the place for a hen party stop,” Julie pointed out. Dimity had to agree.

And then Dimity recognized one of the women. Unfortunately, the woman also recognized her.

“Diiiiiiiiiiiiimity!” The woman drew out her name with joyful surprise. She moved forward, arms already open to hug her.

“Hi, Sora,” Dimity’s smile was genuine, but so was the panic creeping up her throat.

Sora pulled Dimity into an embrace, holding Dimity’s head against her collarbone as she patted Dimity’s cheek ( _yep, this was definitely not the first bar they’d hit, Sora had always been a touchy drunk_ ).

“You take good care of this one,” Sora was speaking to Julie now. “She’s an absolute treasure.”

Surprisingly, when Dimity looked over at Julie, her expression was one of pure amusement.

“So I’ve noticed,” Julie returned. She offered her hand, “Julie Hubble.”

“Sora Cheyya,” the woman released Dimity to properly shake Julie’s hand. “And I’m serious. You must try to hold on to dear Dimity.”

Julie merely arched her brows playfully. Dimity had the distinct need to remove Sora from the scene immediately.

“Well, we don’t want you to miss your—”

“You remember Ileyna, don’t you?” Sora was referring to one of her friends, whom Dimity had met during their time together. She pointed out a tall, lithe blonde at the bar. “It’s her wedding this weekend. You should say hello—I’m sure she’d love to see you—oh, oh, you should do shots with us!”

Sora’s face lit up at the brilliance of her own idea.

“Wait, what?” Dimity felt the wheels slowly coming off the evening. Julie, however, laughed delightedly.

“Shots!” Sora took Julie’s giggle for encouragement. She raised her fist and marched back to the bar like a woman on a mission. The other members of the party were lining up a new round of shots, and she leaned in, motioning back to Julie and Dimity with exaggerated gestures. The hen party turned to them with wide smiles and lifted their glasses in toast. Sora gingerly brought back three shots, setting them on the table for Dimity and Julie to each grab their own.

“To new beginnings!” She trumpeted, before knocking back her drink.

Dimity glanced over at Julie, who merely shrugged as if to say _when in Rome,_ and took her shot. It helped that Julie was still grinning like a Cheshire cat, completely enthralled with this new turn of events.

The rest of the women came over and soon were fawning over Julie’s hair (not that Dimity blamed them). Surrounded by Sora’s friends, Dimity realized how much younger Sora was. Mentally, she tried to do the math…maybe seven, eight years difference? She hadn’t noticed it much before, because she hadn’t really cared—but she was certainly beginning to feel every single second of that age gap. Then she remembered that was eventually why they drifted apart: Sora enjoyed partying, and soon she was spending more nights at the club than in Dimity’s bed, until eventually it was every night at the club, no nights with Dimity.

It wasn’t that Dimity didn’t enjoy going out or even having a particularly raucous time. It was that she didn’t enjoy doing it _constantly_ , or with the same level of frenetic fervor as these spry young things.

One glance at Julie informed Dimity that the blonde had figured out her connection to Sora. Something curling around her eyes, knowing and amused, the little smirk lifting the corner of her mouth when Dimity looked her way. But there wasn’t any judgment or negativity in the gesture—again, Dimity felt like Julie was sharing a secret with her, warm and delicious and just theirs.

Dimity wouldn’t mind being on the receiving end of that look again, multiple times.

One of the women brought over another round of shots. Inwardly, Dimity groaned. However, when she looked over at Julie again, the woman was merely arching her brow in playful challenge, and Dimity was nothing if not competitive.

“Another!” Ileyna called out, lifting her empty shot glass high into the air.

“Perhaps you should pace yourself, love,” Julie’s voice had definitely taken on a motherly tone.

“Julie is right,” Sora nodded in agreement. However, the light in her eyes didn’t give Dimity any ease. “We should dance!”

The hen party cheered in agreement. Dimity looked over at Julie, whose expression had become unreadable. The majority of the women headed for the dance floor, but Sora stayed behind to take Julie’s hands in her own.

“It’s been wonderful to meet you,” her face was filled with such an earnest light. “And I mean it—do be good to her.”

Then she turned and gave Dimity a kiss on the forehead before following the rest of her group onto the dance floor.

Julie was watching Dimity was a syrupy-sweet smile.

“What?” Dimity wasn’t really sure she wanted to know, but she felt as if she had to say something.

“Is there a single girl in this city who’s not in love with you?” She asked, her tone laced with teasing.

“Hecate Hardbroom,” Dimity returned easily. Julie snorted. Then, in a more serious tone, Dimity added, “We should start hydrating.”

“Absolutely.”

Dimity went to get waters. When she returned, Julie Hubble was staring wistfully at the dance floor, her shoulders moving slightly with the music. Dimity was certain that if she glanced under the table, she’d find toes tapping as well.

Dimity Drill was never one to deny a girl a good time.

“C’mon, blondie,” she rose to her feet, offering her hand to Julie.

Julie’s face lit up in understanding. Despite her beaming smile, she quickly added, “I’m—I’m not the best dancer, just so you know—”

“Neither am I,” Dimity informed her. “Why do you think I chose the trapeze hoop?”

Julie laughed at that, slipping her hand into Dimity’s and letting the woman lead her to the dance floor. Her fingertips curled gently into Dimity’s palm. Dimity fought the urge to hold on tighter as fire slipped up her wrist.

The dance floor was crowded, but there was still plenty of room to actually move around. Julie easily slipped into Dimity’s arms, pulling herself slightly closer than necessary.

_Don’t read too much into it._ Dimity reminded herself. Except her inner voice was rather faint, when Julie looked up at her with a blushing smile.

Throughout the evening, the music had gone from slower, tamer tempos to faster, more upbeat rhythms. Once the hen party had hit the floor, the music noticeably changed to the Cubatón portion of the night—given the cheers from the mostly-younger dance floor occupants, this was expected anyways.

She opened her mouth to say something to Julie—but all was lost when the blonde wrapped both of her hands around Dimity’s neck. This time, she couldn’t quite meet Dimity’s gaze. If it hadn’t been for the deep shadows and pulsing changing colors of the dance floor lights, Dimity might think that Julie was blushing beet-red as she slid closer, letting their bodies brush against each other.

Dimity let her hands slip to Julie’s hips, which were easily matching the tempo of the music—it took every ounce of self control not to press her fingers in deeper to the softness, to hold on for dear life. Julie was looking directly at her again, the small creases around her eyes lined with hopeful uncertainty.

Then, those hopeful eyes slowly drifted downwards, to Dimity’s lips. The corner of Julie’s mouth hitched slightly, the tiniest of smiles, and Dimity’s heart went straight to her throat.

_She’s drunk_ , Dimity reminded herself. And oh, how she’d been burned in the past by women who played too easily when they were intoxicated. _Don’t do something you’ll both regret later._

Somehow, it was Hecate’s voice echoing in her head on that last line. Granted, HB had been her voice of caution for years now, so it wasn’t entirely surprising.

For the first time, Dimity truly understood Hecate’s hesitation towards her friend pursuing anything with the woman who managed the show they were currently rehearsing. If tonight ended badly, Dimity could see a dozen different ways that it could negatively impact the show itself. Julie Hubble didn’t seem like the vindictive kind, but then again, Dimity didn’t really know her at all. Despite their hours of conversation at this point, there was still so much of each other's personality that was largely unknown.

Strangely enough, that had never really been an issue that Dimity had considered before, in all her previous conquests and flings.

_She’s too close to home_ , Dimity realized. _Too important_.

Julie shifted closer, letting more of their bodies touch as her arms slid further around Dimity. Dimity’s chest tightened at the new level of contact, her hips sparking with fire even as she tried to quell her body’s reaction. Julie turned her head slightly, her hair close enough for Dimity to catch the scent of shampoo and hair spray—if Dimity turned her own head just a fraction, she’d be able to plant a kiss right where Julie’s jaw met her pulse point. She gritted her teeth and tried to think on other things.

Except all the other things were equally enticing. Like how, despite Julie’s protests to the contrary, her hips kept excellent rhythm to the music, weighted and warm against the palms of Dimity’s hands. Or how Julie’s breasts kept brushing against Dimity’s, and how Julie had to notice, _had_ to know, and wasn’t pulling away or trying to avoid the contact. Or how Julie’s fingertips were lightly trilling along Dimity’s spine, teasing yet also unthinking, each little ripple sending heat and shivers across Dimity’s skin.

There was a commotion and suddenly Julie was pulling away, turning slightly. Dimity wanted to correct the sudden loss of warmth immediately, but she loosened her grip and let the blonde go.

Sora was standing beside them, practically yelling to be heard over the music. “Shots, one last round!”

Dimity wanted to protest, but Julie was already leading her back to the bar, giving a quick wink over her shoulder. Again, it was somehow a secret between them, and Dimity found that she couldn’t resist.

Yes, Julie Hubble was dangerous. And Dimity was powerless to avoid whatever danger she brought with her.

The hen party departed after the final shot, much to Dimity’s relief. However, Julie began to look a little unsteady as well.

“I haven’t drank like this in years,” Julie admitted, slightly chagrined.

“Me either,” Dimity handed her what was now their third glass of water. In mock solemnity, she raised her drink, “To aging livers.”

Julie merely hummed, the low sound somehow carrying through the noise of the bar and the dance floor and landing squarely in Dimity’s chest. She clinked her glass with Dimity’s and took a long draught.

“I should get home,” she announced, a bit suddenly. She set her water on the bar with a heavy thud. “I do have to work tomorrow and I’ll be miserable enough without the lack of sleep.”

Dimity didn’t dare glance at the time, but she was silently grateful that she could spend all day in bed recovering, if need be. Julie closed the tab before gently grabbing Dimity’s hand and leading her out of the building.

“I’m definitely taking a cab,” Julie said, once they were on the sidewalk.

“Same here,” Dimity agreed, changing her tone halfway through. Their voices seemed too loud now, without the music and the background chatter to compete.

“Good,” Julie had turned to fully face Dimity now, her smile sweet and decidedly drunken. Her eyes slowly trailed down Dimity’s face, stopping at her mouth.

Before Dimity could even feel a prickle of apprehension or anticipation, Julie Hubble’s mouth was crashing into hers. Julie seemed to be completely overwhelming—all Dimity could think about was Julie’s lips on hers, Julie’s fingers slipping up to cup her face, Julie’s hips pressing forward, Julie’s sharp inhale before she pushed her tongue past Dimity’s lips without any resistance or hesitation at all.

There was the bite of tequila, the bitter undercurrent of wine, and a sweet note that must have been Julie’s chapstick. Dimity suddenly realized that her hands had, quite on their own accord, slipped around Julie’s hips and were currently grabbing her ass. She retreated slightly, trying not to push too far (a rather difficult feat, given the way Julie’s tongue was currently invading her mouth).

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Julie pulled back, taking a deep breath to steady herself—Dimity, on the other hand, was still barely breathing, still so shaken that she couldn’t quite register what had just happened.

“Just so you know,” Julie kept her hands around Dimity’s face. “I am very drunk, I know, but I have spent a lot of sober time thinking about that kiss.”

“Oh…kay,” Dimity could hardly think—Julie’s thumbs were stroking her cheeks with a slow, measured adoration that matched the warm light in her smile.

“I’d like very much to fuck you,” Julie admitted, through heavy lidded eyes. She tilted her head slightly. “But I won’t tonight. Mainly because I’m fairly certain that I’m going to spend at least half the night puking my guts up, and I don’t plan on that being tied to your first memory of us having sex.”

Dimity burst into laughter. She thought it wise not to point out that now, her first memory of kissing Julie included a talk about said puking up of guts.

Julie remained rather grave, “I’m serious, tequila always makes me sick.”

“Then why did you take all those shots?” Dimity was incredulous. This woman was such a confusing contradiction.

Julie blessed her with another syrupy drunk smile. “Because before it makes me sick, it makes me bold.”

She removed a hand from Dimity’s face to lightly boop her on the nose. “You have your methods of seduction, Miss Drill, and I have mine.”

Dimity wanted to laugh, but the reality of Julie’s words caught up to her brain and she felt a flash of surprise.

_Seduction_. Julie Hubble had straight out admitted that she’d set out to seduce Dimity tonight—it was a strange feeling, realizing that she’d been targeted by her own target, that Julie had gone into this evening with the exact same intent. Dimity had, for the first time in a rather long time, been pursued instead of pursuing (except, yes, she had still pursued Julie, but _still_ ).

“Did it work?” Julie’s expression was adorably quizzical, and Dimity realized the woman must truly be three sheets to the wind if she had to ask such a question.

“Absolutely,” Dimity assured her. This time, she was the one pulling Julie in for a kiss. The blonde hummed in delight, the sound reverberating in Dimity’s mouth with heavy warmth. “Next time, though, perhaps your seduction could include less tequila?”

Julie chuckled in agreement. “Absolutely.”

“Now,” Dimity turned slightly, slipping her arm around Julie’s waist to help her to the curb. “Let’s get you in a cab and get you home.”

“You’ll come with me?” Julie asked. She quickly amended, “Not—not like that, I mean. I just mean—share a cab to mine, at least?”

“I really hadn’t intended to let you get home on your own,” Dimity informed her, feeling a certain relish at the way Julie smiled in relief. “It simply isn’t the chivalrous thing to do, Miss Hubble, and I am, after all, a knight in shining armor.”

Julie laughed at that, lightly. She ducked her head and mimicked Dimity’s posture, slipping her arm around Dimity as well. Dimity used her free hand to hail a cab—and this time, when Julie nuzzled slightly closer, she didn’t resist the urge to nuzzle back, inhaling the scent of Julie’s now extremely wild hair. It was a comforting smell, she realized. Something to come home to, something to lose herself in at the end of the day.

They climbed into a cab and within minutes, Julie was dozing softly against Dimity’s collarbone. When Julie had given the cabbie her address, Dimity had been pleased to realize it wasn’t too far from her own home. But it was a good half-hour from their current location, so Dimity settled in and enjoyed the half-asleep woman resting against her.

She’d never had a first date end like this—but it wasn’t unpleasant, she decided. Though she probably shouldn’t think of it as a date. More of an accidental thing. A happy accident.

Halfway through the ride, Julie woke up a bit more, and they chatted quietly in the backseat. About the weather, the upcoming show, signing Mildred up for hoop lessons. Dimity found that the most mundane conversations seemed quite lovely, with Julie as her conversational partner. It didn’t hurt that Julie’s voice was low and a bit raspy from the late hour and the alcohol—Dimity could have listened to her read the phone book for hours, in that tone.

Once they were out of the cab and finally at the front steps to Julie’s flat, the blonde turned to face Dimity again and wrap both her hands around Dimity’s wrists.

“Not too bad for a first date?” Julie asked, her tone teasing but her eyes still edged with uncertainty.

“Was it a date?” Dimity felt the words slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. But it had been the question she’d wanted to ask for hours now.

Julie’s eyes widened. “Well, I thought so. I mean…why did you think I asked you for a drink?”

Oh. _Oh_. Dimity’s mind whirred with a dozen different answers, but it was all short-circuited by the realization blossoming inside her like sunshine in spring, light and hopeful. It _was_ a date—a first date, but certainly not a last date, and a rather nice one at that.

“So…this whole night—”

“Was me thinking I was being rather clear in my intentions and apparently failing,” Julie supplied with a wry grin.

“No, no—I caught on rather quickly after you put your tongue in my mouth—”

Julie threw back her head and laughed, the sound echoing off the brick buildings around them.

Dimity tried to explain, “It’s not that I didn’t want this to be a date—I hoped it was, very much—but I was afraid that I was letting my feelings get in the way of reality and that….well, I just didn’t want to push for something that you didn’t want.”

“Well,” Julie took a half step closer, tilting her chin so that her lips were just a breath away from Dimity’s. “Now you know.”

She lightly tugged Dimity’s wrists, and Dimity gladly followed into a slow kiss. It felt like time stopped, slowed into infiniteness, as she leaned further in, everything centered around the feeling of Julie’s mouth on hers.

This time, it was Dimity who pulled away first, though only slightly.

“Now I know,” she echoed, her smile matching Julie’s. Julie gave a curt nod of approval, her nose lightly brushing against Dimity’s.

“Call me, tomorrow, will you?” Julie’s voice was low and warm. Another secret, another shared just between them. She sealed it with a small, quick kiss, barely brushing against Dimity's lips at all.

“Of course,” Dimity promised. Julie released her wrists and offered one last smile before heading up the steps.

Dimity didn’t hail a cab—it was an easy fifteen-minute walk to her own flat, though she couldn’t tell a soul how she actually got home at all. She seemed to float the whole way, half in a dream, fully entranced.


	8. Act 2, Scene 2: Barreling to the Sun

The banging sound was too loud. Too close. Too insistent. Dimity groaned and rolled over, instantly regretting her actions—she’d turned towards her window, where the sun was far too damn bright.

The rapping sound continued, even more insistent.

“Drill.” Definitely not the voice Dimity wanted to wake up to. She jumped slightly at the sound, startled to realize that the knocking was coming from inside her bedroom. She grimaced and forced her eyes open to see Hecate Hardbroom looming over her, fist still resting against Dimity’s nightstand, which had obviously been the source of the knocking.

“What the fuck, HB?”

“You didn’t answer your phone. Or your doorbell.” Hecate didn’t have to elaborate—she had a set of keys to Dimity’s flat, and vice versa. For emergencies. Which apparently Hecate had decided this was, after receiving no answer.

“And you couldn’t just…I don’t know, gently shake me awake or simply call my name?” Dimity was incredulous. “I mean, who knocks on the nightstand?”

“I do, obviously.” Hecate returned simply, without any hint of sarcasm. “Now that you’re awake, and apparently not murdered in cold blood in your own home, we can go get breakfast.”

Dimity groaned at the thought. “I can’t handle food right now.”

Hecate hummed in understanding. “Late night?”

“The latest I’ve had in a long time,” Dimity admitted. She rested her forearm over her eyes. “Can you—the sun’s too bright.”

She heard Hecate’s exacting footsteps clip across the room, the quick swish of the blinds—the room felt more bearable, she thought with a happy sigh.

The other side of the mattress dipped and creaked slightly as Hecate perched on the edge. She wouldn’t ask—she never asked—but Dimity felt the need to tell her anyways.

“I was out with Julie Hubble,” she kept her eyes closed but removed her arm from her face. Even without looking, she could sense the sudden tension in HB’s body. “Nothing happened—at least, nothing like _that_.”

“And what, exactly, is _like that_?”

Oh, hell. HB had her prissy tone in full regalia. A sure sign that she disapproved.

“We each spent the night in our own separate beds,” Dimity assured her.

“There’s more to intimacy than sex, Dimity.” Her friend’s tone was soft, tinged with something that sounded an awful lot like fear.

“I know.” Dimity felt petulant. She wanted to point out that she certainly knew more about intimacy than Hecate Hardbroom, who preferred bottling herself up and staying away from the world. But it was cruel and unnecessary and even in her hungover state, Dimity still had a firm grip on morality.

“I know you do,” Hecate returned quietly. She obviously wasn’t looking for a fight, which was good, because Dimity was certainly not up for one, either.

The mattress shifted again. “I’ll go make you some coffee.”

Hecate’s way of apologizing for barging in, both literally and figuratively. Dimity merely nodded, taking a long, deep breath as she listened to her friend’s footsteps fade away into the kitchen. There was a soft sweet sound as Hecate encountered Dimity’s cat, Arcana, followed by cooing and a tone of voice that Hecate Hardbroom only used with felines.

Dimity found herself smiling softly at the sound. She had two brothers, but she’d never learned how to be a sister to a sister until Hecate had arrived in her life. It wasn’t always easy, but she knew the intentions behind Hecate’s actions and concerns were always ones of love, even if she never admitted as much.

She rolled over and scooped her phone off the nightstand. Half a dozen missed calls from HB, which made her roll her eyes, plus a few tart text messages in-between. HB had a mouth like a sailor when she was worried. Then a single text from Julie.

_You left your bag in my car. Drop by the theatre to pick it up later?_

Dimity checked the time. It was nearly noon, but Julie seemed to have recovered remarkably if she was awake and had already retrieved her car from the bar. Dimity had only taken her wallet and her cell phone into The Havana Lounge, with her keys thankfully tucked into her jacket pocket so that she wasn’t locked out at the end of the night. She hadn’t even realized that she’d left her bag in Julie’s car.

Still, it was a rather nice excuse to see Julie again, as soon as possible.

She smelled the coffee brewing, but Hecate didn’t come back into her bedroom. She was giving her friend space, Dimity knew. And mentally preparing herself for whatever she wanted to say.

It didn’t take Dimity long to figure out what that was—once she was sufficiently dressed and curled up on her couch, Hecate reappeared to hand her a mug and sit down primly beside her, the ramrod posture a sure sign that Hecate was nervous about how her words would be received.

“I don’t dislike Julie Hubble,” Hecate began. High praise indeed. “It’s just…she’s not your usual type.”

“I thought I didn’t have a type,” Dimity pointed out. Like a shark fin in water, the tip of a black tail swirled around the edge of the couch. Arcana, coming to sniff and rub Hecate’s ankles again. Dimity knew it was because she smelled Morgana—her littermate, the only other kitten who’d been abandoned with her behind the dance studio.

“Well, physically, you don’t.” Hecate conceded. “But she’s…stable. Not—I don’t mean—she just seems like the type who wouldn’t be looking for a fling.”

Now Hecate let her gaze flick up to meet Dimity’s. “Is she?”

“We…haven’t really discussed it, yet,” Dimity admitted, swallowing thickly. The next part occurred to her as naturally as breathing, yet still landed with a shock in her gut, “And I’m not sure I want to.”

Hecate’s eyebrows lifted to impressive heights.

Dimity tried to explain, “I’m…not sure I want to label this a fling, just yet.”

“You should probably discuss that, too,” Hecate pointed out delicately. Her fingers flexed and then clasped together again. “I just…want you both to be on the same page.”

Dimity bit back the retort that it wasn’t Hecate’s business what page they were on at all. Instead, she merely said, “I do, too.”

Hecate gave a quick, curt nod before pushing herself to her feet again and retreating back into the kitchen to get her own cup of coffee. Dimity knew they wouldn’t talk about it again. There was something comforting in how well she knew her friend’s quirks and nuances.

That was what bothered HB, she knew. Because Hecate also found great comfort in the known, in knowing, in predictability and measurable outcomes. This situation between Julie and Dimity frightened the hell out of her because it wasn’t predictable, it wasn’t within Dimity’s usual realm, it was entirely unknown territory.

There was a reason for the protectiveness, the fear. Hecate had been there for Dimity’s disastrous long-term breakup, years ago. It hadn’t been the easiest time, but honestly, it was the reason they were so close now. Dimity couldn’t regret anything that had brought her such a deep friendship, even if the other half of said friendship sometimes drove her insane.

She needed to reassure Hecate, she realized. So when her friend returned and settled into a chair (quickly joined by Arcana, the little traitor), Dimity brought up the subject of Julie again.

“We did kiss, last night,” she admitted. Hecate’s face betrayed very little sense of surprise. “And…Julie was very clear on her intentions in…continuing our current path.”

Her cheeks tinged slightly as she remembered just how Julie had looked at her, her voice low and certain, _I’d very much like to fuck you_.

“And?” Hecate took a small sip of her coffee.

“And…I’m going to see her this afternoon,” Dimity felt as if she were confessing a deep, dark secret. Hecate’s usually expressive face remained impressively passive. “Mainly because I left my bag in her car last night, so I have to get it.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to come tour the academy?” Hecate suddenly remembered.

“She did, yesterday morning.”

“And you left your bag in her car last _night_. Did you two spend all day together?”

“I guess we did,” Dimity felt a smile seeping across her face. Now Hecate’s face took on its usual expressiveness, hiding none of her surprise.

“Well,” Hecate glanced down at her coffee, giving a small shake of her head. “If she isn’t tired of you yet, there might be hope for you after all, Drill.”

“You’re an absolute bitch, you know that?” Dimity’s words might have been more effective if they weren’t laced with affection.

Hecate merely hummed in agreement. She trilled her nails along the top of Arcana’s head before smoothing the ruffled fur with the palm of her hand and bending forward to place a light kiss atop the feline’s head. Then she gingerly extracted herself from the seat and Arcana’s attempts to keep her in the chair, announcing, “We’ll raincheck on breakfast, then. You absolutely need to take a shower before you see Miss Hubble. You still smell like a bar.”

Dimity was defenseless to argue against her. Hecate dumped the rest of her coffee in the kitchen sink, rinsed out the cup and set it on the drying rack before making her way to the door.

“Glad you’re not murdered,” she called, not even bothering to look back as she breezed out.

Dimity merely laughed in response. Arcana finally returned to her mistress, the unfaithful thing, happily snuggling into Dimity’s side.

Hecate had given her blessing, as best she could. It wasn’t entirely her fault that she viewed all romantic relationships as something to fear and mistrust—Dimity knew the story of her childhood, she understood her friend’s psyche better than most.

Dimity sent a text to Julie, setting up a time to meet. Julie replied almost immediately: _Perfect_.

Dimity smiled again. Yes, perfect indeed.

* * *

 

Julie Hubble was a bit of hedonist, she realized. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t an aspect of her personality that she’d realized until fairly recently.

Until around the time she met Dimity Drill, to be precise. And it seemed to be a trait that only ever really appeared in Miss Drill’s presence.

Julie had felt a spark the first time she’d ever met Dimity. She’d told herself it was just nerves, because Dimity and Miss Hardbroom had been her first attempt at bringing back old talent, because Dimity had been so kind and welcoming and it was just relief that she’d felt, nothing more.

Then a phone call with Dimity had left her smiling so much that her cheeks had begun to twinge. She’d told herself she’d just been happy with life in general, nothing more.

Then she’d seen Dimity again at the planning meeting, and her heart had shot straight to her throat. Seeing as she didn’t have a reaction anywhere near similar to that in regards to anyone else at the table, she found there was no explanation to help sweep it under the rug. She’d just been very careful about glancing in the woman’s direction, knowing her stupid soppy expression would probably give it all away and make things very uncomfortable for poor Miss Drill.

But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from talking to Dimity, from lightly touching her, from re-experiencing the little zing that ran through her veins every time she was near the woman. It was a delicious feeling and she chased it like a junkie.

Seeing Dimity again in a short time span—for the hoop installation and the photoshoot—had not helped quieten the way her body reacted. If anything, it only made things worse. She’d tried to keep her distance, to lay low after that. After all, a woman like Dimity was probably already in a relationship (how could she not be?), probably thoroughly happy with someone else (and part of Julie’s heart hoped that she was, in some strange way, hoped that someone was fully appreciating that woman and her smile, her wit, her obvious kind spirit and rather wonderful curves).

But she’d caved and reached out a few weeks later, using her own daughter as pretense. Granted, she actually _did_ want to enroll Millie in hoop lessons—the child had talked about it so much afterwards that Julie felt she had no choice but to capitulate. During her tour of the Amethyst Dance Academy, Julie had felt sure enough in asking Dimity to join her on the flyer distribution run. It had been a wild gamble, and she’d been shocked when Dimity actually said yes.

During that time, Julie had been able to get to better know Dimity, and any hope she had of brushing this burgeoning new crush aside was completely obliterated. The only option at that point had been forward.

She smirked as she realized that perhaps she hadn’t been forward enough—she’d felt that asking Dimity out for drinks had been a fairly obvious declaration of her intentions, but apparently Dimity had thought maybe she’d just wanted to be friends (and she did, Julie _did_ want to be friends with Dimity, but…in more of a lovers-who-are-also-friends kind of way).

She glanced over at the bag currently in the chair on the other side of her desk. It had been rather fortuitous, having an excuse to have Dimity physically in front of her again. She looked at her phone again, chewing her bottom lip as her stomach coiled and tightened at the memory of last night. Dimity’s hands on her hips, Dimity’s body moving against hers, Dimity’s tongue inside her mouth, Dimity’s final smile as she headed home, lighting up the darkness like a full moon.

And now that woman, those hands and that body and that smile, was on the way to see her again. She felt ridiculous, giddy like a girl waiting to see her first crush again, but she didn’t try to rationalize or tamp down the feeling anymore. She simply let it blossom, let her skin flush and her heart race.

It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel something like this—longer than she’d realized, until now. With a daughter to raise and a theatre to run, she didn’t have much time for romance. Didn’t really want it, didn’t feel she needed it. Sure, she’d met plenty of fascinating people over the years, and more than a few had made her daydream a little. And yes, she'd even dated a few, but they all felt like fleeting flashes.

Dimity Drill had been an absolute atom bomb. Julie still couldn’t explain it, though she’d tried to unravel the mystery. Maybe it was her smile. Maybe it was just so many years without, that Julie had finally tipped over the edge. Maybe it was just the right mix of pheromones. Maybe it really was love.

Jumping the gun a bit, she knew. But she didn’t care enough to stop herself from daydreaming.

However, her dreaming was interrupted by a slight commotion—Millie, who was currently in the foyer working on yet another art project, must have seen Dimity approaching, and was currently unlocking the front door to let her in.

Julie’s chest flooded with warmth as she listened to the exchange between the two. Dimity sounded at-ease, and even without looking, Julie could feel the excited grin on Millie’s face as she chatted away. Dimity didn’t dismiss her or hurry past, she continued talking with Mildred as if her sole purpose for showing up had been to talk about hoops and ask if Millie was enjoying her summer break.

Pushing herself onto her feet, Julie scooped Dimity’s bag out of the chair, smiling as she moved down the corridor to greet the woman.

Jesus, Dimity looked good. Far too good for someone who’d been out drinking like a uni kid til the wee hours. Her hair was in a neat little twist atop her head, the rest of her looking casually put together with skin-tight moto leggings and a loose grey tee under a motorcycle jacket. Her smile was brighter than the afternoon sun. She looked so perfectly at-ease, so perfectly in-place in this familiar space of Julie’s life, it seemed a shame for her to ever be anywhere else.

Well, perhaps Julie wouldn’t mind her being a _few_ other places, damn her dirty mind for thinking.

“Hey, you,” Julie tried to sound casual, though she was certain that her blushing cheeks and uncontrollable smile negated the effect.

“Hey, yourself,” Dimity’s eyes were shining even more than her smile, and Julie suddenly didn’t feel so self-conscious about her own response.

She held up Dimity’s bag, and the woman merely shook her head slightly, as if embarrassed.

“I swear, I’m much more responsible and put together than this makes me look,” Dimity informed her. “But in my defense, there were quite a lot of distractions going on.”

Millie was watching them with unbridled curiosity, obviously piecing together that they’d spent time together recently.

“Miss Drill helped with the flyers yesterday,” Julie explained. Then, turning back to Dimity, she added, “In fact, I have a few more in my office, if you’re still open to sharing them around town?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Dimity followed her back down the hallway. Yesterday during their rounds, she had offered to take some flyers to leave around her own favorite haunts.

Granted, she didn’t really think Julie Hubble was worried about show promotion at the moment. Dimity grinned at the thought—Julie's motives might have been a bit hard to pin down before their kiss last night, but now that she understood the woman’s feelings, the intent behind her actions was much clearer.

Currently, her intent was crystalline—as soon as they both slipped into the office, her arms were around Dimity’s neck, pulling her into a kiss. Dimity dropped her bag, shocked by the sudden rush (though not undelighted by the surprise). With tantalizing slowness, Julie finally pulled away from Dimity’s mouth.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “I just—you look very pretty today.”

Dimity decided she may just wear this outfit every day for the rest of her life.

“I—um. Thank you.” It was hard to think, with Julie so close, smiling at her like that, her own body kicking into overdrive at the sensation of being up against Julie’s again.

“For the record—I was quite drunk last night—”

“Yes, I suspected as much.”

Julie gave a slight huff of amusement at Dimity’s droll tone. Gods above, she wanted to kiss that mouth. This time, she restrained herself though, continuing, “And I don’t—I don’t want you to feel…overwhelmed. But I just want to reiterate that I’m stone-cold sober now, and I still meant every word of it.”

Dimity shifted back, just a fraction, giving a single, quick blink. “Ok. Good. That’s good. Given the way you grabbed me and kissed me that absolute exact second we were alone, I figured as much.”

“Yes, well, after last night, I was a bit afraid of being too oblique.”

Now it was Dimity’s turn to chuckle at the snark. “Touché, madame. But for the record, I might have been slow the take, but I’m fully aware now. And…I don’t mind, being overwhelmed.”

“Good.” Julie’s relieved grin made Dimity smile anew. Once again, Dimity was struck by how absolutely fearless the woman could be, when it came to emotions and expressing them.

“Good,” Dimity agreed. This time, she was the one pulling Julie in for a kiss. Julie made a little twittering sound of delight and Dimity Drill knew that if she’d ever had a chance of making it out of this situation with her heart still in her own chest, it was long gone now.

“I just, um,” Julie jerked her thumb in the direction of the foyer. “Want to wait a bit, before letting Mildred know. Just to…see. To…figure it out, I guess.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it: _just in case this doesn’t work out_. She didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to breathe that possibility out into the world. And yes, she knew how silly and superstitious it was, another sign of how far gone she was over a woman she barely knew.

“Of course,” Dimity gave a quick nod of agreement. “I mean—I’d never want to—I get it.”

Julie merely smiled again in relief. It was quickly becoming Dimity’s favorite sight.

“I guess I’d better go,” Dimity reached down to grab her bag. “I’m sure you have plenty of—”

“Actually, we were just about to go for lunch.” The hopefulness in Julie’s tone stopped Dimity. “If you’d like to join us. I have to admit, there won’t be any chance to snog or play footsy under the table with Millie around, but—”

“Lunch with a beautiful lady with absolutely no chance of a romantic interlude? Sounds perfect.” Despite Dimity’s snark, she was still grinning in delight. In a more serious air, she admitted, “I don’t mind just spending time with you—or with your daughter, for that matter. I just—I want to get to know you, as trite as it sounds.”

“That’s not trite at all,” Julie tucked her hair behind her ear (well, she tried—those curls really were a law unto themselves, Dimity realized). “It’s…lovely.”

The way she breathed the last word, all shining eyes and blushing smile, made Dimity’s chest tighten.

Julie’s hand slipped into hers, giving a quick squeeze as she smiled one last time in reassurance before slipping past. Dimity shifted, leaning against the doorframe for a moment to simply watch her walk down the corridor, back into the foyer to tell Millie of their lunch plans. Dimity fought back a grin at Mildred’s excited response.

This was nice. Different, but nice. She wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, but she hoped it kept going for quite a while. She felt a bit wild, a bit unhinged, charging into something where the lines weren't clearly drawn. A bit like Icarus, barreling towards the sun.

And like Icarus, she kept moving forward. She slung her bag over her shoulder, joining the two Hubbles in the foyer. She held the door open, winking at Julie as the blonde slipped by again. She felt undeniably giddy in the afternoon sun, falling into easy step with Julie as Millie walked on ahead, obviously avoiding cracks in the sidewalk and telling them about the movie she saw last night with her best friend Maud.

Julie glanced over, as if she was afraid that Dimity might be regretting her decision already. Dimity merely grinned in reassurance.

And truly, there was no place else she’d rather be. It may be uncertain, it may be dangerous, but if Julie could be brave about it, then so could she. Julie was grinning back at her now, warm and shining. And Dimity knew if she fell, it would hurt like hell. But for the first time in a very long time, it seemed worth the risk.


	9. Act 2, Scene 3: Like Magnets

Pippa took a light breath to steady herself, smoothing her hands over her stomach before looking up at her reflection in the rehearsal room mirrors. Like Ursula, she’d been watching her diet more carefully again, taking a few extra pilates classes when she could and opting to take the stairs everywhere she went. Twenty years ago, it would have meant she’d lose nearly a stone in less than a month. Nowadays, it meant exactly one pound.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Ursula was nearly ten minutes late. Briefly, she wondered if her dance partner had chickened out. Not that _coward_ was generally a word that came to mind in regard to Ursula Hallow, with her bullheadedness and rather forceful personality. But Pippa had recently come to realize that she didn’t really know the woman as well as she’d thought, so at this point, anything could be possible.

Beni, the choreographer, was already there, sat on the floor as she idly flipped through her choreo notes, one foot flexing and pointing absentmindedly. She was a whip of a thing, barely five feet tall and maybe a hair over six stone. Her freckles and distinct mouth made her look like an American knock-off of Emmanuelle Béart, whom Pippa had always thought was rather lovely. She was far too excitable to be French, though—her Americanism shone far too brightly in her over-the-top enthusiasm. She was currently bobbing her head along to the rasta-reggae that was blaring through the speakers, which she’d used for her warm-up stretches. She was weird. Pippa liked her.

The door shunted open and Ursula blew in, obviously flustered. Pippa bit back a desire to ask her where she’d been, if—

“Everything alright, babes?” Beni asked for her, sitting up in mild curiosity.

Ursula blanched at the moniker—she literally hadn’t even met the woman. Still, she replied, somewhat dazedly, “Y-yes, I’m…fine. Sorry for the tardiness.”

The last line was delivered more to Pippa than Beni, with a wariness in Ursula’s eyes that said she expected some kind of chastisement. Pippa merely nodded in acceptance of the small apology, and the set of Ursula’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

It took a few moments for Ursula to sort her things and slip out of her shoes, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor. It was actually the first time in ages that Pippa had seen her in anything other than her usual twinsets and skirts, and she was pleased to see that she’d been right—Ursula still had a rather good figure, much more noticeable in her yoga capris and racerback top.

Which meant Pippa still didn’t know what Ursula’s real hesitation had been about, when she’d first turned down Pippa’s request to bring back the Hipsnotic Sisters. They still weren’t particularly close—not close enough for Pippa to feel comfortable asking again, anyways. She was still walking on eggshells, every time she was around Ursula.

But for now, Ursula was giving her a nervous almost-smile as Beni launched to her feet, clapping her hands together and announcing they’d start with a warm-up.

It was different from the old days, in several ways—there were only two of them now, and neither were in charge of choreography. Back then, the Hipsnotic Sisters had held absolute creative control over their numbers—they chose the music, the costumes, the choreography. This time around, Pippa and Ursula had chosen the song, but the costumes were from a pre-selected list of sketches Mavis had crafted (everyone seemed to be required to fit within a certain look for this particular show, so they weren’t the only act being given such limits), and the choreography was entirely out of their hands. Probably just as well, seeing as neither of them had danced in ages.

That fact became more and more obvious as they tackled the choreography. Pippa Pentangle prided herself on being rather fit, but it took her muscles longer than she’d anticipated to remember exactly how to manage some of the moves. Ursula seemed equally lost, flustered and at times frustrated.

Pippa couldn’t always read Ursula, but she could say with a fair amount of certainty that they were both relieved when the rehearsal was over.

“Fancy a pint?” Pippa asked, as they headed down the corridor.

Ursula blinked, looking over at her in surprise. Pippa waited.

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” she finally spoke.

“It is.” Pippa agreed. “So is that a yes or a no?”

“I’m not….” Ursula glanced down at her outfit. Pippa had to agree, workout gear wasn’t normally what she’d wear to the pub, either, but she didn’t really care.

“Neither am I,” she pointed out. With a ridiculous sense of victory, she realized Ursula was actually considering her offer.

The rehearsal room door blew open and Beni appeared, holding a sweater aloft, “Yo, Pippa! You left this behind, baby.”

Pippa went back to grab the item, offering her thanks. Beni merely winked and went back inside.

“She’s fun,” Pippa decreed.

Ursula merely hummed.

“We should invite her out sometime,” Pippa decided. “I’d love to see what she’s like with a few drinks in her.”

“You know, I’m just a bit tired.” Ursula pulled away slightly, just enough for Pippa to notice. “Perhaps we can go out another time.”

With that, she doubled her pace, easily putting distance between herself and Pippa. She was out the door and out of sight before Pippa could even really comprehend what was happening.

Pippa simply stood in the middle of the foyer, a bit lost over what had just happened. She had the distinct feeling that, yet again, she’d done or said something wrong. And then, she felt the equally-distinct feeling of frustration that almost always came from dealing with Ursula Hallow and her mysterious mood swings.

_Fine_ , she decided. If Ursula wanted to be distant and stroppy for no discernible reason, then let her. Pippa was done with constantly extending an olive branch for past sins—if they even _were_ sins to begin with. Because, yes, she might have spent more time with Hecate, back in the day, but over the past few weeks, she’d realized something else: Ursula had never made any attempts to be friendly towards her in those days, either. Yes, maybe Pippa could have been a little more attentive to Ursula’s opinions, but it wasn’t entirely her fault if Ursula had never voiced those opinions, was it? If Ursula had never shown any interest in being friends back then, was Pippa entirely to blame for not seeking a deeper friendship with her?

That bit seemed to conveniently slip Ursula’s memory. Of course, it was so much easier to just play the victim and let Pippa do all the work of making amends.

Well, Pippa had tried. And Ursula had shown that she wasn’t truly interested. Which was just fine, Pippa told herself. They didn’t need to be friends—they just needed to work together for this one show, and be civil during the few times they actually saw each other for the girls’ vocal lessons and competitions. No need to constantly trip over herself in her attempts to make it anything more.

Somehow, she knew Ursula wouldn’t be happy with that arrangement, either. But Ursula apparently was one of those people who simply couldn’t be happy. Always wanting more, wanting less, wanting different, wanting, wanting, _wanting_.

Let her want. Pippa had tried. She was done trying.

* * *

Ada looked up to the rafters of the stage with a slow, deep breath. She’d never been a religious person, had never felt that connection to any deity or dogma, but oh, she understood the wonders of cathedrals and temples and other sacred sites—she felt it every time she entered a theatre, every time she stood in the wings and looked up at the expanse of lights and wires and runners and gangplanks. The feeling of being a part of something larger, something higher than herself. A sense of connection to a greater whole, in some small way.

She had barely been twenty, the first time she had stood on this very stage and looked up, understanding this sensation for perhaps the first time in her life. She’d taken ballet lessons during her childhood, had even done theatre in secondary school, had loved the thrill and the fantasy of it all—but it wasn’t until early adulthood, when she’d come to The Midnight Music Hall as a chorus girl, that she’d fully _understood_ the allure, the true pull of such a place.

She was a long way from twenty now, but the magic had never left. The day it did leave would be the day she ended her career—she’d made that decision long ago, too.

Footsteps echoed behind her. She turned to see Gullet, climbing up the stage steps with papers in hand, leafing through the pages distractedly. Today was their first rehearsal at the theatre, and they’d been given a stack of schedules and rules and important dates by Miss Hubble, the manager.

“Right,” Gullet spoke up, still focused on the papers. “So it looks a bit willy-nilly in the availability department, but nothing we can’t dance around.”

Agatha merely hummed at the play on words. She was currently standing in the middle of the stage, looking rather bored. Since Ada was closer, Gullet handed a few pages over to her first—the pages she’d already scanned herself for useful information.

The first page was contact information for the performers. Ada still felt a jolt of delight at seeing one name in particular: _Hecate Hardbroom, aka Miss Blanche Flamb_ _ée._

It seemed a bit odd, seeing her phone number and email address just right there. If only Ada actually had a reason to use them. The email address was particularly interesting—it routed to a domain for Amethyst Dance Academy, implying that Miss Hardbroom must be an instructor there.

She also noted that Miss Drill’s contact information also included an email address with the same domain. So that’s how they knew each other.

Not that it mattered how the two women knew each other, mind you. It was just…interesting. Another piece to a puzzle, and Ada had always liked a good mystery. Just part of her natural curiosity.

Granted, it didn’t hurt that the current puzzle in question was…aesthetically pleasing. Because that’s about all Ada could say about the woman, having only met her for a total of three minutes at most.

Gullet gently handed her another sheet of paper, which Ada immediately scanned. It was the first page of the rehearsal schedule for the next few weeks. Her heart fell a little when she read that Miss Hardbroom (and Miss Drill) would be rehearsing off-site.

No accidental meetings in the hallways in her future, then. Not that it mattered, she told herself. Not that it was worth this strange feeling of disappointment.

Then, with a small flutter of joy, she realized that the opening number and the finale would require all of the performers. Which meant at some point, they'd all be in rehearsal together.

Sunday. The first group rehearsal was scheduled for Sunday. Ada tamped down a smile as she counted the days.

In truth, it was a little surprising that she was still thinking about Miss Hardbroom—it had been nearly two months since the promotional shoot, and they’d literally only spent a few minutes together. Not even together, really, as they’d exchanged maybe ten words and there had been plenty of other people around to share in that conversation. Ada had experienced crushes before; she knew how such things worked. But still, she was impressed with how intense this one seemed to be, given the time span.

And even if it was just a crush, even if it would soon be shattered by reality, she’d relish the feeling while it lasted. There was something lovely about it all—the fizzy feeling in her stomach, the possibility of it all, the myriad of ways anything could happen. It may be fleeting, but it could still be enjoyed.

Sunday. She just had to wait until Sunday.

* * *

Hecate Hardbroom awoke to a splitting headache on Sunday morning, silently cursing Dimity Drill for its creation (conveniently forgetting that Drill had _tried_ to talk her out of the last two rounds of drinks last night). She pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks and padded into the kitchen, downing an entire glass of water like a shot, with a paracetamol chaser. Morgana wove around her ankles, making little chirping noises as if to comfort her.

Or possibly to silently atone for some wrongdoing that Hecate had currently not yet discovered. Though that wasn’t entirely the kit’s fault, either.

When Dimity and Hecate had discovered two raggedy little kittens abandoned in the dumpsters, Hecate had become ridiculously over-emotional about the idea of separating the sisters. Dimity had agreed to a compromise—they would arrange play dates, so the cats were still together at times.

Yesterday had been Hecate’s turn to host. She and Dimity had left the cats alone to grab takeaway, then returned to watch a black and white film ( _All About Eve_ , a favorite), and spend the rest of the evening pleasantly—and oftentimes silently—enjoying each other’s company. Dimity had worked on some knitting project whilst Hecate did more research on their upcoming trip to Berlin for the International Burlesque Festival.

It was a first for both of them, and they’d decided to take the entire week after the festival to explore Berlin, a little vacation of sorts since neither had ever been. There were plenty of other instructors at the dance studio to handle their classes for the week, and they’d need some time to recuperate after the three-day festival. Over-planner that she was, Hecate almost had an entire itinerary built, and it was still two months away.

Since Hecate was already home, she’d been a bit more liberal with her alcohol intake. Though Dimity had tried to warn her, reminding her that they did have a group rehearsal for Esper’s show the next day. Given how much food she’d eaten, Hecate had convinced herself that she’d be fine and that the alcohol wouldn’t really hit that hard.

She was wrong. And currently paying for her hubris. Her head spun as she reached down to scoop Morgana into her arms, one hand slapping out to steady herself on the kitchen countertop. Slowly, she made her way back to the living room, keeping herself propped upright as she wrapped herself in a blanket and semi-dozed off again.

With a grimace, she realized that she’d probably see Julie Hubble today. Not that she despised the woman—she just was still wary. Julie and Dimity had been seeing each other for a month now, and Dimity still hadn’t lost her starry-eyed wonder over it all, which was a bit concerning, truth be told. It had been a long time since Hecate had seen her friend like this. And last time, it hadn’t ended well at all.

Inevitably, Hecate’s thoughts turned to Marigold Mould, and her headache surged again at the realization that she’d have to deal with that woman today, too.

Dimity and her women. Hecate clutched her forehead lightly, closing her eyes at the thought. And Hecate herself wading through it all, too—all of the stress, none of the benefit.

Not that Hecate wanted that—not from those women, anyways. Dimity liked rather flighty things (making relatively stable, practical Julie Hubble an absolute dark horse), whose interests usually made Hecate want to slam her head repeatedly against a concrete wall when engaging those women in conversation. While some of them had a very obvious physical appeal, she couldn’t fathom what Dimity could see beyond that—or how she could settle for aesthetic over substance.

Granted, Dimity wasn’t really about _settling_. So maybe that was the trick. Hecate understood acting upon the impulse of an attraction through a one-night stand, but pursuing anything beyond that, even if only for a few weeks, only meant that she would all-too-quickly start to care, and nothing good came from getting attached. 

_Life-altering issues with attachment and codependency. Indicator of childhood trauma and abuse._ She knew all the symptoms, had a lifetime supply of various clinical voices and textbooks telling her things she already knew. Rubbing her forehead harder, she tried to erase her current line of thought.

Not today. She wasn’t emotionally capable of handling that today.

Morgana shifted, little paws pressing uncomfortably into Hecate’s stomach as she pushed herself higher, eye-level with her mistress. Hecate smiled softly, scratching behind the cat’s ears—Morgana dipped her head and leaned into the touch, nearly toppling off the couch entirely. Hecate caught her and snuggled her close.

Of course, there were other people who would be at the rehearsal today—people whose presence sparked a far different reaction.

_Person_ , if she were being honest.

Ada. The twin with the smile like the sun. Hecate really regretted her final two drinks last night—alcohol never did good things for her skin, and she didn’t need a mirror to know she looked paler than usual. With sudden determination, she set Morgana aside and moved to the bathroom, turning the shower knob as hot as she could stand and padding around her bedroom as she waited for the water to warm.

It was just a rehearsal. Still, she eyed her dance clothes critically. As a ballet instructor, she had an awful lot of leotards and tights at her disposal, but she tended to keep things slightly more lax for burlesque rehearsals.

Just a rehearsal, nothing more. Still she chose her favorite sweatpants, the ones that did great things for her ass.

Just a regular rehearsal. She grabbed her best dance bra, the deep purple one, and a sheer grey tank whose neckline showed off her shoulders, which she had been told more than once were some of her best assets.

A perfectly ordinary rehearsal, on a perfectly ordinary day, with perfectly ordinary people. After her shower, she pulled her hair into a loose chignon, taking ( _only slightly, so little you’d not even notice, really_ ) extra care to keep it looser, slightly wisping around her face. She practically scrubbed the moisturizer into her pores, willing her skin to jump into full recovery. She added a spritz of perfume, the one that smelled like gardenia, just to her wrists.

And if her chapstick happened to be the tinted one, adding just a brush of color to her lips? Well, that was purely accidental.

And she grabbed her new character shoes because she needed to break them in before fall classes, that’s all.

And she spent a full three extra minutes scrutinizing her outfit in the mirror because…well, because.

And she added the delicate gold chain, which hit right at the dip in her collarbone, highlighting it with a light twinkle (reminding her of another shimmering necklace on another woman, and the way it had made her stare, the way _she_ had made her stare), because it was a nice touch and she liked the necklace, that was all.

It was a regular, ordinary, innocent rehearsal. She just wanted to make a good impression on the rest of the performers. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, was there?

She slipped on her street shoes and headed for the door. Only to realize there was still an entire hour before she actually needed to leave her house.

Anxiety was a real bitch, sometimes.

So she made her bed and sorted her laundry and put away the clean dishes on the drying rack, ate two bowls of oatmeal and fruit, fed the cat, checked her mail and took out the recycling. Finally, enough time had passed that she would still be a few minutes early but not ridiculously so, and she gave Morgana one last scratch atop the head and hurried out.

And just like before, she told herself that odd fluttering feeling in her stomach was first day nerves, nothing more. She put her headphones in, readjusted the large leather bag on her shoulder, slipped on her Jackie O inspired sunglasses, and firmly tried to push the feeling away.

She was still fifteen minutes early. She wasn’t even sure how. She just couldn’t seem to slow her pace, walking double-time all the way.

* * *

_If you arrive on-time, you’re already fifteen minutes late._ The rule of theatre performers, ground into Ada’s head by her mother. So a quarter of an hour early, she and Agatha breezed into the foyer of The Extraordinary Esper Vespertilio’s Midnight Music Hall, making their way down the main corridor and up the stairs to the big rehearsal room, whose doors were already open, light streaming into the darkened hallway.

Ada glanced around as she entered. There was one other performer already here, sat down in front of the wall of mirrors, stretching and warming up. Even before glancing into the mirror’s reflection to see a face, her entire body pricked with recognition at the well-defined shoulders.

Miss Hardbroom sat up slightly upon seeing them in the mirror. She blinked and said, “Oh. I wasn’t expecting anyone else for at least another ten minutes.”

Agatha quoted their mother’s proverb in explanation, to which Miss Hardbroom nodded in solemn agreement.

There was a fraction more sway than usual in Agatha’s hips as she made her way across the polished wood floor, the smile on her face implying that she was well aware of just how closely Miss Hardbroom was watching her as she placed her bag at the corner of the room, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs lined against the wall as she idly glanced down at her phone.

However, when Ada looked back at Miss Hardbroom, she realized the woman hadn’t been following Agatha at all. She was still watching Ada, with some odd sense of expectancy. When she realized Ada had caught her staring, she ducked her head and went back to stretching, very pointedly not making eye contact again.

Ada hurried to toss her bag next to Agatha’s, rummaging inside to grab a light sweater—it may be summer outside, but the theatre was always cold inside, and today was no exception.

When she glanced over again, Miss Hardbroom was watching her, smiling softly at the sweater—given the sympathetic look on her face, she understood Ada’s cold-natured plight.

“Miss Hardbroom, isn’t it?” Ada moved closer ( _liar liar, as if you don’t know exactly what her name is_ ), settling on the floor to stretch as well.

“Hecate, please,” she offered a small smile. Ada had sat a good ten feet away, not wanting to crowd the woman, especially not when they had an entire rehearsal space, but Hecate was shifting slightly, turning more of her body in Ada’s direction. A silent invitation to continue the conversation, Ada noted.

Hecate knew that some performers insisted on being addressed by their stage names at all times, so she inquired, “And do you prefer Ada or Addie?”

“Ada is fine,” the blonde ducked her head slightly. “Addie sounds a bit juvenile these days, I think.”

“It works,” Hecate said quietly. She’d picked up on the uneasiness, the hint of self-condemnation in Ada’s tone, and she immediately wanted to dispel it. “The whole twins-with-phonetically-similar-names bit. It’s…clever. Makes your act easier to remember, name-wise.”

“That was our thinking, too, yes,” Ada smiled again, this time without hesitation. And just like the very first time, Hecate found that she had to look away, the tips of her ears already feeling flushed.

“Well, Ada,” Hecate liked the sound of her name (yes, inwardly, she had to agree, Addie didn’t quite suit her as well as Ada did, soft and lyrical and tinged with…something undefinable, something lovely). “It’s nice to meet you. Again, I suppose. Though we didn’t get much chance the last time. I just…well.”

She blinked at that, as if suddenly perplexed. As if she wanted to give further explanation, but couldn’t find the words.

“It’s quite alright,” Agatha piped up from her seat. She smiled as well, though it was sharper than Ada’s, despite their remarkably similar mouths. Referring to the moment with Miss Merry Gold, she asked, “What’d she do? Try to steal your boyfriend?”

Hecate blanched at that, and Agatha burst into laughter. “Apologies. Your girlfriend?”

“No. There wasn’t—I don’t have,” Hecate fumbled for an answer, glancing back over at Ada, who was watching her with an unreadable expression (she really was going to have to get better at maintaining eye contact with the woman, it was becoming noticeable, the way she had to shift her gaze every time, like some ridiculously hormonal teen with their first crush). Pushing her tone into something slightly louder, slightly closer to her ballet mistress voice, she said, rather definitively, “We just don’t get on, that’s all.”

“Understandable,” Agatha became softer, aware that she’d hit a nerve. With a slight tilt of her head, she gently added, “That’s the way of it sometimes, isn’t it?”

Hecate merely nodded, shifting again and resuming her stretches. This time, she turned her body slightly away, and Ada’s heart sank in response. After a lifetime of feeling like she didn’t quite know when people were being honest, she’d learned to read body language, learned to look for the signs that said, _yes, this person is actually interested in what you have to say_ , or _no, you’re boring them, Ada, just move along_.

There was also a small frisson of dread in her stomach. She knew her sister far too well—Agatha was a skilled huntress, and she often found a way to suss out a woman’s relationship status and sexual orientation within the first five minutes, if she was interested in pursing something more. Ada would bet every penny in her bank account that Agatha had never suspected that Hecate and Miss Gold had fought over a lover—she just needed to confirm that Miss Hardbroom favored the fairer sex and that she was at least mildly open to the idea of seduction.

But Hecate hadn’t stared at Agatha through the reflection. Hadn’t turned herself towards Agatha in conversation. Hadn’t smiled at Agatha over a silly sweater. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

There was a commotion in the corridor and a younger couple with beaming faces appeared.

“Boom, baby!” The man held out his hands in gleeful anticipation. “Natty and Narcissus have arrived!”

He looked around expectantly, and given his expression, did not receive the welcome he’d been hoping for.

“Apologies for not being properly awed,” Agatha drawled, one corner of her mouth hitching into a smirk. “Perhaps you can go back out and try it again?”

Natty laughed at that, walking over to extend his hand in greeting, “Natty Nightshade. Ego-maniac.”

“Agatha Cackle. Likewise,” she offered a shark grin and he laughed again.

“Narcissus Nightshade,” his companion shook Agatha’s hand as well. “Still trying to figure out what heinous crime against humanity I committed in a past life, to be saddled with the ego-maniac in this one.”

Natty feigned indignation over the dig, but it was greatly mitigated by his adoring smile. Being back in the place that had started it all for both of them had a magical effect—he felt like a twenty-something year old kid again, mooning in the wings over the chorus girl with a set of lungs that would shatter the West End and a set of legs that would make angels weep. Given Narcissus’ dancing eyes and bright smile, she felt the pull of nostalgia, too.

They greeted Ada as well, and Natty crouched in front of Hecate—soon Ada overheard enough to pick up that Hecate must be the dance teacher for Natty and Narcissus’ daughter, who was currently taking a summer workshop with Miss Hardbroom.

“He’d talk about our Enid all day if he could,” Narcissus informed Ada with a smile.

Ada grinned as well. She always loved seeing show people with healthy lives outside the glimmer and glamour of the footlights. It wasn’t always like that, in their line of work. But she was always happy for those who’d found it.

That now-familiar tug of unknown longing pulled in her lungs again. The feeling she’d had that night in Monaco, the night her cards had predicted an upcoming life change.

The change, whatever it was, still hadn’t revealed itself. Ada wondered if perhaps the cards were wrong. Or maybe the change had already happened, but it was so subtle that she didn’t even realize it.

She didn’t have time to further contemplate, as the head choreographer breezed in, trailed by a group of chorus girls who anxiously introduced themselves to the assembled performers. A few minutes later, Ada glanced over to see her sister deep in conversation with one of the girls, who was leaned in, eyes large and raptly focused on Agatha’s every movement.

So far, everything was exactly as it usually was. Soon more performers arrived, and Beni announced that everyone was here and they could begin.

It was interesting, watching Hecate interact with Dimity Drill. They sat close to each other, stretching and occasionally chatting. Dimity cast cautious glances at Ursula Hallow and Pippa Pentangle—and while Dimity’s gaze was occupied, Hecate shot a few withering glares at Marigold Mould. There was a protectiveness between the two women that gave Ada a pang of nostalgia. She and Agatha used to be like that, years ago.

They were still sisters, still close in their own way. But they’d both grown into different people since then. That was simply the way of things. You evolved; your relationships evolved, too. Sometimes it was good, sometimes it was bad, sometimes it just _was_.

Once everyone was properly limbered up, Beni began splitting them into groups and arranging them as they would appear on stage. The opening number, conceptualized by Algie himself, was to have the performers all frozen, like wax figures on display. Then Esper would appear, weaving her way through and bringing each performer to life.

Naturally, Ada and Agatha were posed together (Natty Nightshade pointed out that their original pose looked a bit too Shining-esque, and unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong, so they had to change it up a bit). But sadly, they were across the stage from Hecate. Ada tried not to stare at the reflection in the rehearsal room mirror, the way Hecate’s stance—face in profile, one arm lifted straight up to a hold currently-imaginary fire fan—only highlighted the lines of her neck and arms.

Really, Ada was becoming as bad as her sister. Ogling her fellow performers—it wasn’t something she did, a point of pride on her part.

A point currently lost. She kept trying to avert her gaze, to distract herself. But Hecate was perfectly placed in her line of sight, a natural spot for Ada’s eyes to focus, every time.

Dimity was cracking some off-color quip, and Hecate turned slightly to reprimand her—however, the words died in her throat as she turned her head, eyes catching Ada through the mirror. She tried not to outright gape, but it was a bit difficult.

Ada’s rehearsal wardrobe was yoga leggings with an attached skirt, which flared out at just the right angle, accenting the curve of her hip (currently further emphasized by her pose, a playful forward lean that showcased a lovely view of décolletage), and a loose pink jumper that was both ridiculously fluffy, given the season, and extremely lovely, given its low scooped neck and the way its clingy material did nothing to hide the body beneath. She was wearing her character shoes, which added a nice line to her calves.

Hecate blinked quickly and glanced away, the image still seared in her memory’s vision.

Oh, shit. She realized that Ada had been looking dead at her. She couldn’t have missed Hecate’s gaze, or exactly where it strayed.

Was it too late to back out of the show altogether? Hecate contemplated faking either injury or grave illness. She was being silly, she knew, but still. She hadn’t behaved like this in a professional setting, ever. Sure, she’d been around a lot of beautiful bodies, a lot of whom were often half-naked (or more)—but bodies were bodies, it was part and parcel of the job. She’d never been untoward, had never been anything less than professional and respectful, even when the owner of said beautiful body had been a woman she’d fancied.

In fact, when she thought about it, that way she’d looked at Ada hadn’t been that disrespectful at all. It was just a curious look. They were humans in a room full of mirrors, people looked when something drew their eye. It was perfectly innocent.

_Ah, yes, but the intention behind your actions isn’t exactly innocent curiosity, is it?_ Dammit, this particular inner voice sounded like Drill.

And it wasn’t wrong. So what? Hecate had an attractive coworker—because that’s what Ada was, technically. She’d had attractive coworkers before, would have them again, no doubt. She’d just have to tamp down her attraction-based urges and make sure she kept her eyes on more respectful locations.

_Like her face, which you can’t seem to look at too long without blushing like an idiot?_ This inner voice sounded more like her own. Unfortunately, it wasn’t wrong either.

Thankfully, Beni was talking again, hurrying over to walk Marigold through the first few counts of her choreography, before Gwen would bring Hecate to life as well. Hecate flared her arms out as if brandishing her fans, which brought Narcissus to life. Narcissus turned to kiss Natty’s cheek, bringing him to life as well. Gwen moved along, waking up Dimity, whose hoop would rise up enough to allow her a few lazy spins, a promise of the daring feats to come. Then came Pippa, whose hip popped out in a belly dance move, stirring Ursula to life. Gwen reached the other end of the stage, bringing Ada and Agatha alive before brandishing her hands like a magician performing a great feat—at that, the chorus girls snapped awake as well.

Once Gwen was front and center again, the company would perform a short routine in unison. However, the first half-hour was simply going through the first minute or two, as each performer took a full eight count to awaken. Again and again, Gwen reset and Beni replayed the music, raising her voice to be heard over it as she directed each performer, clapping out the eight-counts to help everyone hear the rhythm of the music.

Finally, they reached the meat of the number, occasionally stopping as someone asked a question about posing or inflection or wait-what-do-our-hands-do-here. Hecate watched carefully, mimicking Beni’s movements as much as possible, a feat made far easier by her years of dance workshops and the classes she still took herself, finding it best to always learn from other teachers. For some of the performers, it was obvious that they’d long gotten out of the habit of learning other people’s choreography. Every body moved as uniquely as the brain attached to it thought, which meant sometimes someone had a hard time recalibrating to the way Beni would position her hands or flick her foot during a kick-ball-change. But eventually it looked uniform enough, given the fact that they still had weeks to hone the moves.

After nearly two hours, they’d made it through most of the song. Beni ordered three last rounds of rehearsing what they’d gotten so far, after which they were adjourned.

Ada was adorably cherry-cheeked by the time Hecate sidled up to grab her bag, which was in the same corner as Ada’s. Hecate had noticed that she’d taken off the sweater nearly an hour ago—it was currently tied around her waist, and the cut of her black racerback top revealed a tattoo on her left shoulder blade, an art-deco crescent moon, tilted slightly to hold a bouquet of flowers, petals and vines spilling further down.

Hecate hadn’t expected that. She blinked, trying to comprehend why she hadn’t noticed it two months ago, at the promotional shoot.

“This isn’t new, is it?” She motioned lightly to Ada’s shoulder, after catching her eye in the mirror’s reflection yet again. She prided herself on being able to hold Ada’s gaze this time. See? She could do this. She could keep this silly little crush from ruining her working relationship with a colleague. Noting Ada’s confusion, she added, “I don’t remember it, from the shoot.”

_Hecate, you idiot. Way to not-to-subtly point out that you were paying such close attention to her half-naked body, you lech._ She felt her cheeks immediately heat with a blush. However, Ada’s surprise seemed delighted rather than disturbed.

“Oh, no, I've had it for ages,” Ada smiled, a little breathlessly. “I usually use Dermablend, to hide it for performances.”

Hecate’s confusion must have been evident—after all, plenty of performers had tattoos these days (hell, in the right costume, her own tattoo was visible)—because Ada clarified, “It’s just—it doesn’t quite go with the look, you know? Being the goody-two-shoes one.”

There was something wistful in the way Ada said it, a bit regretful, a bit like the way she’d noted that her stage name might possibly sound juvenile—something that made Hecate’s chest surge with a protective need to banish whatever unnamed emotion was in Ada’s face.

“I think it looks…lovely.” Hecate wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, only that she wanted to say something, anything to ease Ada’s expression. “And that’s—the tattoo doesn’t affect your personality or your smile—”

It took every ounce of self-control not to physically slap her hand over her own mouth. Quickly, she amended, “I’m just—you still look like the goody-two-shoes one, tattoo and all.”

For some reason, that only increased the note of sadness in Ada’s expression.

Agatha joined them, reaching up to pat Hecate’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. Ada didn’t miss the way the willowy woman flinched at the contact, all shock and tensed muscles. She remembered how Hecate didn’t shake their hands, the first time they’d met. So it wasn’t about being a diva or a germaphobe, Ada realized.

“We’re off to grab a late lunch—or an early dinner, depending on how you look at it,” Agatha informed her. “Would you like to join?”

“I’m afraid I have plans,” Hecate’s voice was curt, her shoulders still rigid even though Agatha’s hand had long since left contact. However, her dark eyes slid over to Ada, tinged with slightest hint of regret. Without another word, she shouldered her bag and walked away.

“Strange little thing,” Agatha mused. However, she still cocked her head to the side. “Thankfully she has a few saving graces.”

Ada didn’t have to follow her sister’s gaze to know exactly which particular grace Agatha was currently admiring. And while Ada could understand the appreciation, she felt a hot flash of anger at her sister’s open gawking.

“ _Behave_ yourself,” she hissed, leaning in so the others couldn’t overhear.

“That’s your schtick, remember?” Agatha arched a brow. Still, she stopped staring. With a slight shrug, whose nonchalance still didn’t hide how miffed she was at Ada’s disapproval, she added, “Besides, it’s a bit of fair play, after all the times I caught her ogling me during rehearsal.”

Ada wanted to retort that Hecate had been looking at _her_ (because she’d looked up a few times to catch the woman’s eye, and it was somehow less embarrassing, knowing that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop looking), but doubt seized her throat, locking the words away.

What if she’d been wrong? What if Hecate _had_ been watching Agatha? Maybe Ada had just _thought_ Hecate was watching her, maybe it was a trick of the mirror angles. Maybe she’d been watching Agatha, and every time that Ada had glanced at her, she’d made just enough movement to grab Hecate’s attention, pulling her gaze away from its intended target—Ada’s twin.

Not for the first time, Ada’s head swam as she tried to piece together what she knew to be true, from the wreckage of a suggestion that nothing was as it seemed.

She’d made mistakes like this before. And she definitely wanted Hecate’s attention—had she wanted it so desperately that she’d convinced herself it was being given, when it wasn’t?

She didn’t feel well, at all. Clearing her throat, she gently spoke, “I think—I think I’ll just go back to the flat. I’m not really up for lunch, it seems.”

Agatha harrumphed at that, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Instead, she pulled out her phone and started texting. Probably Gullet, Ada thought. They were renting a flat for the next six weeks, while Gullet was staying with family nearby. Agatha hated eating alone and Ada knew that if given the chance, Gullet would grab a cab to wherever Agatha wanted to go.

That was probably the most interesting thing about Geraldine Gullet. She didn’t know much about their childhood, but she seemed to understand which of their quirks came from it, and those were the ones she indulged with unspoken sympathy. She’d absolutely rail Agatha over the smallest of issues, sometimes complaining about things that didn’t matter at all (at least in Ada’s opinion—Agatha’s, too, though Agatha would still row about it, just because), but when it came to stuff like this, she was almost a codependent enabler. Honestly, she didn’t think Agatha had dined alone a single time since Gullet had joined them. It was a bit endearing, knowing that underneath the gruffness, Gullet was quite a softie, in the best of ways.

And it was such knowledge that kept Ada from feeling an ounce of guilt as she hailed a cab back to the flat. She looked out the window, not really paying attention at all. Then a flutter caught her eye—she focused her gaze to see Hecate Hardbroom, determined strides eating up the pavement as she moved through the crowd. Part of her wanted to roll down the window, to call out, to do anything to have just one more millisecond of interaction with the woman, but she knew it would be futile. Hecate had her headphones in, and even with her big sunglasses on, Ada could tell that she was laser-focused on the path ahead of her, cutting through and skirting around the other pedestrians with the well-honed grace and speed of a shark.

With a light sigh, Ada settled back into her seat. It would be a whole week before their next group rehearsal. A whole week to think of some conversation to strike up, some way to better gauge if Hecate was even interested in her, or if she was simply deluding herself with wishful thinking.

It was either entirely too much time, or entirely not enough. Ada still wasn’t sure which. With one last glance out the rear window, she watched the woman hook a right at the corner, disappearing from view.


	10. Act 2, Scene 4: Can't Love It Til You Try It

Dimity rapped out a playful beat against the open door as she waited for Julie’s reaction. She was rewarded with a trademark Hubble beam when Julie looked up and realized it was her.

“Hey, you,” Julie’s tone was low and warm with knowing. She shifted in her seat but didn’t get up. Dimity still took it as invitation enough to move fully into her office, coming around to lean against the side of the heavy oak desk, propping herself on her left hand as she leaned in, just a bit more. Julie reached out, letting her fingertip lightly trace over the ridge of Dimity’s knuckles. “How’d it go? Any catfights I should know about?”

Dimity gave an amused hum, “So far, so good. But it was only the first rehearsal, so….”

She shrugged, glancing away slightly. It was just a joke, but she didn’t feel quite right, teasing Hecate when Hecate wasn’t here to fire back—and especially over a part of Hecate’s past that she still didn’t find amusing, even after all these years.

Then again, it wasn’t just about being hosed down with a fire extinguisher on stage. Very few people knew that—not even Julie knew. Dimity trusted Julie, but she also felt that it wasn’t her story to tell, and she knew how Hecate coveted her privacy.

Julie sensed her hesitancy and easily changed subjects, “So, you’re off to hurl axes tonight?”

“Gotta be ready to defend my fair lady in the zombie apocalypse,” Dimity grinned. Julie merely rolled her eyes. They’d already had quite a long—and heated—discussion over who would be a more valuable asset in the impending apocalypse. It was technically ongoing. Mainly because Dimity loved watching Julie get worked up over it. She was cute when she was pissy.

“I guess that means I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” Julie ducked her head slightly. Mildred was currently taking the summer hoop course at Amethyst Academy, which meant that even on the days when they couldn’t arrange some time together, Julie and Dimity still saw each other, even if it was only during drop-off and pick-up.

They certainly hadn’t had another night out like their first date. But Dimity had found that she didn’t mind (much). They’d agreed to take things slowly—and given that Mildred was still not aware of the nature of their relationship, it meant that their time together was structured around when they both were free and Mildred was away at a friend’s or spending the evening with Algie and Gwen.

Despite her impulsivity when intoxicated, Julie was quite cautious when sober. And much to Dimity’s never-ending surprise, she didn’t mind it.

Most surprising was the fact that they still hadn’t slept together—Dimity honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d waited this long in a relationship. Not that they’d been particularly chaste. There had still been a few make-out sessions and one distinctly lovely evening on the couch that Dimity still daydreamed about _quite_ frequently.

_It’s not that I don’t want to_ , Julie had told her, when they’d first discussed going slow. And Dimity had smirked, knowing full well that was never the issue. _It’s just…I have other considerations_.

Mildred, mainly. And Dimity understood. In fact, she rarely dated women with children—at least women with children who were still living at home, or who didn’t have a divorced spouse who shared custody—for that very reason. It was a complication, and Dimity Drill didn’t really do complicated when it came to her flings.

But this wasn’t a fling, was it? Sometimes the realization terrified Dimity. For the most part, it was just…fascinating. She wasn’t sure what it was about Julie that affected her so deeply that she would so effortlessly forsake her own rules.

It was a bit laughable, knowing that they’d actually planned a time to consummate the relationship. Every year, Gwen and Algie took Mildred on a week-long hiking trip, which this year would be the week after the show itself closed. Julie had decreed it the perfect time—with a sly smile, she’d admitted that she had plans to barely leave Dimity’s company (or the bedroom) for the entire week. Dimity had suddenly thought that planning ahead like that was rather clever.

Still, she couldn’t remember a time since high school that she’d actually _set_ a specific date for first-time sex with a partner. Except this time, it didn’t seem juvenile at all. It was…a bit hot. A lot of lingering touches and warm gazes, like those period romance films that Hecate loved to watch so much (though she’d die before admitting it—Dimity had seen her DVD collection and she never commented on it, but HB knew that she knew).

Currently such activity was occurring as Julie’s fingers flexed and slipped between Dimity’s, pushing her fingers wider apart.

Even now, Dimity Drill wasn’t entirely comfortable admitting just how affected she was by mere fingers sliding together. It would be a bit embarrassing, if Julie wasn’t blushing as well.

There was a ruckus in the foyer—most likely caused by Mildred, Mavis’ daughter Maud, and Natty’s daughter Enid, who’d met Mildred two weeks earlier at the dance academy. The girls had been off having adventures in the wonderland of the theatre while their parents were either working or rehearsing. Dimity couldn’t help but grin at the giggles that followed, confirming her suspicion that the three girls were involved.

Julie was grinning, too, as she rose to her feet, fingers slipping away from Dimity’s. She moved around the desk, hand sliding over the swells of Dimity’s upper thighs with weighted intent as she brushed past.

Again, Dimity was almost embarrassed at how much a simple touch over her fully-clothed legs affected her. Almost.

She rose and followed Julie down the hallway, intentionally keeping a slower pace to appreciate Miss Hubble’s determined little gait that always had a nice little swivel to it. She was wearing the jeans she’d worn that night on the couch, and Dimity’s palms ached at the memory of slipping into those back pockets, pulling that woman further into her lap as Julie melted and moaned into her mouth.

September seemed like a lifetime away.

Except it didn’t, most of the time. Because she wasn’t really waiting—at least she didn’t _feel_ like she was, anyways. Not with Julie. Julie was always moving, always tumbling from one thought to the next, surprising Dimity with oddly-timed deep questions, the kind she’d expect from HB (she tried not to dwell on that, or any other possible similarities between her best friend and the woman to whom she was quite sexually attracted). Everything was far too dynamic to feel stagnant. Julie’s life might be stable, but it certainly wasn’t boring. And neither were the moments of Dimity’s life that she got to share with Julie.

“And what are you doing, still skulking these hallowed halls?” A playful voiced stopped her. Dimity turned to see Marigold Mould easily sauntering towards her.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dimity returned with a smile.

“Costume fitting,” Marigold waved distractedly over her shoulder, in the direction of Mavis Spellbody’s work room. “Poor Mavis, I don’t think she was particularly happy about putting her lovely fabrics all over my sweaty body.”

Dimity chuckled. “I’m sure she didn’t mind.”

Marigold merely shrugged. “Well, either way, needs must. We don’t have much time—especially since I’m heading out, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Where to?”

“Montréal.”

“Back across the pond, eh?”

Marigold rolled her eyes at Dimity’s blatant attempt to sound stereotypically Canadian. “It’s quite lovely. And it’s a three-week gig that pays like a three-month gig.”

“Can’t say no to that,” Dimity conceded. Marigold hummed in agreement.

“You should do it, sometime,” Marigold suggested. “Run off and do the whole casino circuit. All of Vegas would be clawing each other’s eyes out to book you.”

Dimity laughed. Marigold reached out to lightly grasp her forearm. “I’m serious, Dimity. I’ll never know why you didn’t make a career of it, ages ago.”

“Because…I don’t want to,” Dimity said simply. And it was true. She loved her students and her dance academy and the life she’d built in London.

“Can’t love it til you try it,” Marigold intoned, almost as if she’d read Dimity’s mind. She arched a perfectly manicured brow, squeezing Dimity’s arm for just a beat.

Somehow, Dimity felt the invitation wasn’t solely regarding a trip to Montréal. Again, as if reading Dimity’s thoughts, Marigold gave a quick wink, all flashing smile and dancing eyes.

They reached the foyer, where Julie Hubble was trying to field three sets of pleas and bargains being tossed her way as the girls tried to negotiate a sleepover. Marigold smiled warmly and greeted the girls and Julie. Then she slipped out the front door, offering one last meaningful look at Dimity over her shoulder.

_I mean it, Drill. Consider the offer._

Dimity merely nodded, knowing full well that she wasn’t changing her mind anytime soon. She turned her focus back to Julie, who was being a bit stern in a way that fooled nobody, but was still cute and more than a little hot.

Julie looked back over at her and offered a roll of her eyes in response to the girls’ continued cajoling. Dimity couldn’t help it. She laughed. Julie’s mouth was twitching, trying to hide her own smile.

Montréal had nothing on this, Dimity thought.

* * *

Ursula checked the chicken again, frowning slightly as she read the meat thermometer. She never entirely trusted the thing, and she had a nearly-irrational fear of food poisoning from undercooked poultry.

If Martha were here, she’d roll her eyes and tut at Mrs. Hallow’s worrying ways. But it was Sunday, which meant the housekeeper and cook was still off for the weekend. As was Andrea, the nanny. Which meant it was just Ursula, alone in the kitchen so big that it bordered on ostentatious.

The same could be said of the entire house, though she still enjoyed the status it symbolized. Real estate was at an absolute premium, particularly in their neighborhood, and it was a luxury to have a house of this size. Still, it could feel a bit lonely, even with her three daughters rambling inside it somewhere.

Esme and Sybil were currently in the den, watching some dance competition. Ethel, if Ursula had to guess, was in her room. Writing in her diary or indulging in her latest obsession of becoming an artist. That was a new thing, come on only last week. But Charles had indulged the sudden whim, having Andrea buy her all the necessary supplies and a few books on how to draw kawaii, whatever the bloody hell _that_ was.

She’d give the chicken another ten minutes. Just to be safe. Ursula gave a curt nod of self-agreement as she closed the oven, slipping off her oven mitts and moving back to the glass of wine she was currently enjoying.

She hadn’t had a drink in weeks, as part of her regimen to get back in shape for the show. But tonight, she’d felt crummy and had indulged her mood by adding alcohol ( _natural depressants plus a sour mood, yes, quite a perfect pairing_ ).

She’d felt like this since this afternoon. Since leaving rehearsal. Since spending time back in the studio with Pippa and Hecate again, watching them both like a hawk, trying to discern how they both were taking it (she still wasn’t sure). Since noting that Pippa had made no attempt to ask her out for a drink again—just as she hadn’t asked at their last private rehearsal, either.

It was stupid, Ursula told herself. They were adults with busy lives. Maybe Pippa had elsewhere to be, both days.

Maybe Pippa was too busy meeting up with Beni instead. Cute, lithe little Beni, with no stretch marks and sparkling blue eyes. Sweet, friendly little Beni, who was always happy and called everyone _baby_ or _babes_. Pretty, blonde little Beni, with the edgy tattoo on her spine and her cool taste in music.

An angry, aching fire blossomed in Ursula’s chest at the thought.

_Stop jumping to ridiculous conclusions_ , she chided. And it didn’t matter even if that really was happening—Pippa was an adult who could spend time with whomever she liked, however she liked.

Ursula was so caught up in her mental chastisement that she jumped at the feeling of her husband’s hand on the small of her back as he moved past.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she admitted, still blinking back her surprise.

“How was shopping?” Charles asked conversationally, grabbing another glass from the cabinet and pouring himself a generous share of wine as well.

“Oh, fine.” Ursula had explained her three-hour absence this afternoon with a shopping trip.

“I didn’t see the hallway lined with boxes and bags,” her husband teased lightly, leaning against the counter.

“I didn’t find anything worth buying,” she shrugged, looking down into her wine. She didn’t like lying. Before now, she simply…hadn’t told him anything. But now she was actively lying about where she’d been and what she’d been doing, and that seemed like a bigger line to cross.

“The Ameson’s want us to join them in Switzerland next month,” he informed her, tone as balanced and unaffected as possible. “The last two weeks of August, to finish off summer holiday with a bang.”

Ursula’s throat tightened at the thought. She couldn’t be away for two weeks—not when the very next week would be tech week, not when she needed every available rehearsal to work on her moves.

Charles read her hesitancy and offered in a low tone, “I haven’t given them an answer. Though I’m not sure why we should say no. I can take the time off, and the girls would love a trip to the Alps.”

“Yes, of course, it sounds lovely—I just,” Ursula searched for an excuse, for anything. “It’s just…unexpected. And there’s a lot to do, to prepare for a trip like that.”

“Esme’s old enough to handle her own packing. And you’ve got Andrea and Martha to help.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Sometimes it was easy to forget the difference in their ages. But when Charles spoke in that voice, that soft and easy-going tone that was almost fatherly, Ursula felt every single day of their age gap. He wasn’t the type to intentionally patronize—in fact, it was his kindness that had drawn her to him, all those years ago. He never talked down to her, never made her feel stupid or silly, never on purpose, anyways. The other times, well, most of that was in her own screwed up head, she knew.

She glanced at the clock again, deciding to risk potential salmonella by taking the chicken out two minutes ahead of plan. She needed movement, distraction, distance between her and her kind, oblivious husband.

Why hadn’t she told him? She didn’t know. Why did she feel so hesitant? She didn’t know. Why did she feel so guilty? She didn’t know, she didn’t know, she didn’t know.

* * *

Now that it was summer, all the uni kids were at the axe-throwing pub, much to Hecate Hardbroom’s unending displeasure. Thankfully, being regular weekly fixtures meant that the guy at the front desk knew them and intentionally gave Dimity and Hecate a throwing lane at the very back, which meant that most of the evening, they had at least two lanes between them and the other patrons.

Being rigidly predictable had its perks.

Dimity gracefully endured a long-winded complaint from Hecate regarding her girlfriend’s daughter—apparently Mildred had made quite the splash during her first few days at the academy. There were two works shops coinciding: the summer dance intensive, and Dimity’s hoop lessons, which meant all the students shared a lunch break together. Mildred had caused a ruckus on her first day with an explosion inside the microwave. Then she’d befriended Enid Nightshade, which had somehow caused issues for Hecate’s ballet class, since apparently Ethel and Enid now sniped at each other more than usual, over Mildred.

“Look, she’s just never done the whole dance academy thing,” Dimity shrugged, selecting an axe and lining her toe up to hurl. “These other girls have practically grown up in our studio; they know all the rules and expectations.”

She hefted the axe behind her head and pushed forward into a throw. Hecate made a small noise of disapproval for her mark, which was rather close to the bullseye (giving Dimity more points than Hecate).

“I don’t expect perfection,” Hecate informed her, raising her voice as Dimity walked down the lane to retrieve her axe. “I just expect the child to _actually_ listen and _try_ to follow the rules. Children are children; I’m no stranger to that. It’s the blatant disregard that’s worrisome.”

Dimity handed her the axe. Hecate shifted to the center of the throwing lane, squinting slightly at the target.

“It’s not—she’s a creative type, HB. They’re always a bit flighty. She’s a good kid. She just…isn’t always aware of her surroundings.”

Hecate merely hummed, taking a beat to hurl her axe. Dimity didn’t even have to look to know that it had landed too wide of the mark—Hecate’s lips punching into a taut line of frustration told her that she was still safely in the lead.

Tightly, Hecate added, “And I never said she wasn’t a good kid.”

Something in her tone told Dimity that she took the unintentional implication quite personally. Dimity opened her mouth to apologize, but Hecate was already moving down the lane, jerking the axe out of the wooden wall.

By the time she came back, her face was set in a resolute expression. “No more work talk, Drill. It’s distracting me, and I have a wager to win.”

Dimity rolled her eyes at that ( _bitch, you were the one who started work talk_ ). They were getting funding from an arts endowment, and currently at-odds at how best to spend it. In their typical fashion, they’d decided to compete for the right to choose. The best out of twenty matches would win. It meant weeks of competing, but honestly, they both loved it.

“Julie showed me the posters for the show,” Dimity informed her. “They’ll go up next week.”

“How do we look?”

“Hot. We look super fucking hot.”

“Good.” Hecate smirked, moving back to the table to grab her wine. She idly munched on a carrot stick from one of her two previous entrees, watching in disinterest as Dimity threw again. She came back to the throw line in time to take the axe from Dimity’s hand, switching it out for another one with a more balanced handle (so she claimed, Dimity never saw a difference). Focusing on the target, she asked, “And how is Miss Hubble?”

“Quite well.”

“Still heart-eyes and simpering smiles all around?”

Dimity laughed at that. Hecate took the chance to throw. When she came back from retrieving her axe, Dimity was pointing a finger at her, “One day, my dear woman, love is going to bite you in that infamously hard bottom of yours, and _I’ll_ be the one making snarky jokes.”

Hecate huffed in amusement. “That’ll be the day.”

Dimity had to give a small chuckle of agreement at the pronouncement. Still, she did enjoy pestering her best friend.

“Just you wait,” Dimity let the axe handle roll across her palm, testing the weight. “When you least expect it, some little…you know, I could picture you with a nice ginger lass. I think a redhead would have enough fighting spirit to keep you on your toes—”

“I did date a ginger once,” Hecate admitted.

“And you… _dated_ her, for more than a few hours?” Dimity’s eyebrows lifted suggestively as she lined up her next hurl. Hecate gave a light laugh at her ridiculousness.

“I _have_ dated, you know,” Hecate’s tone was filled with offense, all feigned. “Dinner and flowers and all that superfluous sentiment.”

Dimity actually snorted at that point. Hecate couldn’t even pretend to be upset over that.

Because it was true, Hecate Hardbroom generally wasn’t one given to the flighted fancy of romance. For the most part, she enjoyed a fling every now and again—her one-night stand count was rather high, Dimity had been surprised to learn, though now she understood her friend well enough to know it made perfect sense. But she’d never really expressed a desire for a relationship, for something more with just one woman, for anything beyond a quick physical fix. And she never seemed lacking because of it. Still, it sometimes made her less-than-supportive of Dimity’s own attempts to find love.

More than once, she’d pointed out that she and Dimity both looked for the same thing. She was just more honest about it. _Something shiny and new_ , she’d phrased it. _Except I’m smart enough to get out long before the shine wears off._

Hecate gave a little prim shrug of her shoulder as she took the axe from Dimity's hand and traded places, smugly pleased that Dimity's last throw hadn't earned her any further points. She could still win this.

“So no one at the music hall has caught your eye?” Dimity asked, cocking her head to the side.

Hecate physically juddered at that, her axe clunking broadside against the wood and clattering to the floor. So much for closing the point gap.

Dimity was like a fucking setter on point. “Holy shit, wait, _has_ someone caught your eye?”

“No,” Hecate answered quickly, too quickly.

Dimity crowed in delight. “Someone totally has!”

Hecate walked away to retrieve her axe. Unfortunately, she had to return. Using her sternest tone, she said, “I am not—nor would I ever—be attracted to a work colleague."

"That's not how attraction works, babe. You don't really get to decide—"

"Well, I wouldn't _act_ upon it, then. It’s unprofessional, and, given the nature of the show, a bit unseemly.”

“Why? Because you’ll see them practically naked in a non-sexual way?”

Hecate flushed as she realized that was exactly what would happen—the Twins were, after all, a striptease act. She’d intentionally not clicked on _those_ pictures on their promotional website, all those weeks ago. It didn’t feel right. Again, bodies were bodies, she had no issues with nudity—it just seemed to be an issue because her curiosity was less… _clinical_ than it was with most other bodies she’d seen in such settings.

Still, that wasn’t her reasoning, so she pointed out, “No, it’s just—the whole show, the whole premise of the art is to…pretend. Even when we’re in rehearsals, without an audience, we’re still…not entirely ourselves. We’re faking, in some parts. Lying. To fall in love with someone who’s just fulfilling part of their public persona—”

“Love?!” Dimity practically shrieked. “Who the hell said anything about _love_?”

Hecate considered the axe still in her hand. Could she get in a deep enough whack to her own forehead, before her body’s pain sensors made her pull back? Would it be damaging enough to get out of this conversation?

“You know what I mean—”

“No, no, I don’t, Hecate. But I’m dying to find out.”

“I need more wine.”

“Last night wasn’t bad enough for you?”

“What can I say, Drill? You drive me to drink.”

Dimity laughed at that, and Hecate felt the tension in her chest ease, just a fraction. She downed the rest of her wine with a slight grimace and looked around to see if the bar was too busy to grab another round. Dammit, it was. Couldn’t all the Tads and Geoffs fuck off back home and stop encroaching on her life?

Thankfully they were the only ones encroaching—Dimity dropped the subject just as easily as she’d broached it, focusing on her aim again. Hecate felt a ripple of relief. Yes, this was all just some hypothetical situation in Dimity’s mind, a nonexistent reason to tease. If she’d thought that Hecate actually had feelings for one of their fellow performers, the woman wouldn’t rest until she’d gotten the truth from her.

And what was the truth, exactly? Hecate toyed with the stemless wineglass, rolling it between her palms. That she…had a crush? No, she’d maybe spoken to Ada for a grand total of five minutes, ever. One couldn’t develop feelings for a total stranger like that. Which meant it was an aesthetic attraction—granted, sexually aesthetic, but still, just a thing of looks, nothing more.

_Then why didn’t you feel the same way about her twin—her nearly identical twin?_ Hecate bit the inside of her lip, as if she could muzzle her inner voice.

Maybe Drill’s flighty theories on auras had some merit. Or maybe it was just because Ada had been the one she saw first, that afternoon in the stairwell.

It was the smile, she decided finally. Ada’s smile was different from Agatha’s, and it was Ada’s smile that made Hecate blush, made her unable to look too long.

Right. Aesthetics _. And when you see an aesthetically pleasing painting, do you have to look away and hide your blush?_ Jesus, her inner voice was really being a bitch tonight. Perhaps this should be her final glass of wine.

“Oi, woman, you gonna throw or what?” Dimity brought her back to the present. Hecate set down her wine glass, cleared her throat, and moved back to the throwing lane.

She liked the way Ada looked, that was all. No need to spiral into some existential crisis. Pretty women happened; one of them was bound to eventually pop up in her work-related realm. And she’d made a valid point, earlier—she didn’t know Ada enough to feel anything beyond the basest, simplest of physical attractions. Given the structure of the show schedule, she wouldn’t really get to know the woman beyond her professional persona, so the attraction would stay as-is.

She just had to manage it. And she _could_ manage it. She could do anything she put her mind to. With a low, small breath, she lined her leading foot up with her target. She pulled back twice, testing her balance. With a short huff, she sent the axe spinning.

She didn’t hit the bullseye—but she hadn’t been aiming for it. She hit a smaller circle, high in the corner, the ultimate points grabber known as the killshot.

Dimity swore in frustration, tinged with the slightest bit of delight at her friend’s skill. Hecate smirked in self-satisfied confirmation.

A particularly raucous group of young adults entered the building, laughter and youth bubbling into the rafters. Dimity caught the flash across Hecate’s face and knew, before she even turned to look herself.

Yes, one of the girls bore a strong first-glance resemblance. The dark curls, the big bright eyes. Dimity suddenly realized it was that time of year again—late summer was creeping up on them, which kind of explained the recent uptick in Hecate’s alcohol consumption. She wondered if Hecate had even noticed the correlation. For someone so impressively intelligent, the woman could be a bit dense about her own coping mechanisms.

She looked back at Hecate, whose face was still lined with a tired sort of pain. Grief wasn’t always sharp-edged and bleeding, Dimity knew. Sometimes it just became weariness. Just…exhaustion from all the grieving, the constancy of the loss, the predictability of just how hard it would hit.

Hecate ducked her head and pushed her long legs double-time to retrieve her axe. Dimity watched her, well-versed in her friend’s body language to know that Hecate was pulling away slightly—this was definitely one of the times that she didn’t want to talk about it.

“Don’t fool yourself into thinking that little Hail Mary’s gonna save this game for you, Hardbroom,” Dimity informed her seriously. Hecate merely lifted her eyebrows in slight surprise.

“I do not require the assistance of Mary or any other being—holy or otherwise—to outmatch you,” she returned primly, arching one shoulder in an overly-affected shrug. She dropped her axe into the bin with an emphatic air. “But perhaps you should do a little praying, Drill.”

“Always trying to get me on my knees, aren’t ya?”

Hecate guffawed at that, the girl who looked like Indigo Moon temporarily forgotten. Dimity felt a measure of satisfaction. She played it up, giving Hecate one last wink before setting up for her final throw.

She lost. She didn’t mind. Much.


	11. Act 2, Scene 5: Even a Blind Man

A week could feel like an eternity, Ada realized. But the eternity finally passed, and soon it was time for group rehearsals yet again. For perhaps the first time ever, she was ready to go before Agatha, who despite her bad-girl on-stage persona was actually the more time-cognizant and punctual of the pair.

Ada felt a thrill of victory upon seeing that Hecate Hardbroom was, once again, already in the rehearsal room by the time they arrived.

This time, Ada watched her like a hawk. Hecate didn’t pay particular attention to Agatha, didn’t seem overly interested or more invested in Agatha’s movements than anyone else’s. If anything, she was even more reticent than she’d been at the previous rehearsal. It was almost as if she was intentionally shutting herself off from anyone else.

But she wasn’t rude about it, Ada noted. She still answered Natty’s questions about Enid’s ballet performance, still smirked at Dimity’s jokes, still nodded in understanding anytime Beni spoke—she just didn’t…engage. She didn’t push any of the interactions to last longer than was absolutely necessary.

The only ones she seemed to outright avoid were Ursula and Pippa. Gullet had hung around the theatre a bit over the past two weeks; she’d picked up the gossip surrounding the three women and had told the whole thing to Agatha and Ada—so Ada understood, at least somewhat, the noticeable silence amongst the former trio.

A few times, she glanced up to see Hecate looking at her through the mirror’s reflection, but she was never fully sure if perhaps Hecate’s gaze had been on Agatha, just before. She never saw it happen, but that didn’t mean it _didn’t_ happen.

They finished the last half of the opening number and Beni announced a quick break before going into the choreography for the finale. Ada took a seat in one of the wooden chairs lined up against the wall, keeping two chairs between her and Hecate in an attempt to not crowd the woman, who was currently looking down at her phone, protein bar in her other hand.

She had a very lovely nose, Ada thought. But that wasn’t the kind of thing one just said in conversation, so instead, she gave a light, airy sigh as she sat back, brain reeling for something to say, _anything_.

Hecate set her phone down and glanced over, seeming slightly surprised to see Ada sitting there. The woman startled easily, Ada realized.

Ada was staring right at her—despite Hecate’s previous self-promise to be further removed from her attraction to the woman, she found herself literally blurting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Want a bite?”

Ada’s eyes went wide with confusion, and Hecate fumbled to correct, “A bar, I mean, would you like a protein bar? I have extra, in my bag.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, already rummaging through her large gym bag to hide her desire to roll her eyes at her own stupidity.

“Oh, no, that’s quite alright—I’m fine, but thank you,” Ada leaned in a little bit, as if she were going to reach out and stop her.

“That’s good—because I think I actually ate the rest,” Hecate confessed with a slight chagrin. Ada giggled and Hecate’s embarrassment vanished at the lovely sound. Light and feminine, exactly how Hecate had expected Ada to laugh. It was utterly perfect.

“Well, if I get particularly desperate, I do keep lemon drops in my street sweater,” Ada informed her.

“Street sweater?”

“Yes,” Ada tugged at the jumper she was currently wearing. “This is just for rehearsals. I have another one to wear when I’m just out and about.”

One corner of Hecate’s mouth hitched up, like she was witnessing the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. Ada felt a warm rush in her veins at the look.

“Do you also have one for black tie affairs?” Hecate drawled, one brow arching in a teasing way that did nothing to quell the flush creeping over Ada’s chest (thank goodness her rehearsal jumper hid that little sign).

“Of course,” Ada returned in feigned primness. “It quite literally has bells on.”

Hecate grinned at that, making a little hum that might be construed as a laugh. Ada felt ridiculously triumphant.

“I’m the same way with my leotards,” Hecate admitted, giving a small nod of understanding. It was true—there was a hierarchy amongst her rehearsal clothing, which never crossed over to her streetwear.

“Oh, you have one for black tie affairs?” It was Ada’s turned to tilt her head to one side, arching her brow—though her look was more playful than taunting.

“With bells on,” Hecate returned with a sharp grin. Ada briefly wondered if the woman was actually aware of how scintillating her smirk was. She barely kept her gaze from wandering further down, to that lovely neck, her awful, awful mind replaying Hecate's first words over and over again ( _want a bite?_ was the woman truly that oblivious or was she flirting, in a subtle-yet-somehow-brazen way?).

Hecate was rather proud of herself for recovering so quickly—and for being able to look Ada in the eye without blushing anymore, thank goodness. Yes, this was easy, she told herself.

Beni called out for everyone to start moving back to places, and Ada shifted, suddenly whipping her jumper over her head.  Once it was fully removed, she leaned over to tuck it back into her rehearsal bag. Today she was wearing a purple sleeveless top that suited her coloring perfectly—and the deep vee of the neckline created a lovely display as well.

With a sudden snap of embarrassment, Hecate realized she was outright gawking at the woman’s cleavage ( _yet again_ ). She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks and realized that perhaps, this wasn’t as easy as she’d thought at all. She quickly ducked her head, trying to bring her attention back to her protein bar.

Ada didn’t seem to notice, too busy taking one last sip of water before heading back to the center of the room, where the others were reassembling. With a small noise of disappointment echoing from her stomach, Hecate filed the rest of her bar away and followed close behind. She tried not to focus on the view in front of her, but Ada had worn her heels again and they were doing wonderful things for her legs and her yoga skirt was kicking up with every step in this adorable little way that made it almost seem like she was skipping and—

_What the hell is wrong with you, Hardbroom?_ She inwardly berated herself. _You are behaving absolutely deplorably right now. Get your mind out of the gutter, your eyes off her ass, and your attention back where it belongs—on rehearsal._

She forced herself to look ahead, to the rest of the group. However, her eye was quickly caught by Ada’s tattoo, peeking out from the edge of her shirt. For the first time, Hecate truly noticed the little freckles on Ada’s shoulder. Freckles had always been an odd weakness of Hecate’s. She tried not to think of how they must look across Ada’s shoulders, without any clothes in the way at all.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuckity-fuck-fuck. This wasn’t easy. This wasn’t easy at all. And it certainly wasn’t going to get any easier.

* * *

It might have been a bit too on-the-nose, but the show’s finale was the classic _There’s No Business Like Show Business_ , which everyone was supposed to at least _pretend_ to sing. At one point, Beni had everyone form a chorus line, arms linked behind backs as they did a series of low kicks. Naturally, Ursula and Pippa were side by side—Ursula tried not to act as flustered as she felt, having Pippa’s arm wrapped around her and having to place her own arm around Pippa. On her other side was Gemma, one of the chorus girls, but that was different for some reason. Probably because she didn’t know Gemma, didn’t have an odd quarter century of history that hitherto had experienced only the most minimal of touching.

Pippa seemed unbothered, but then again, she’d been rather closed off lately. Ursula wasn’t really sure she could ascribe _any_ emotional state to the woman, who was looking dead ahead, listening intently to Beni as if her life depended on it.

Except she wasn’t keeping her gaze focused entirely on Beni. Pippa glanced at the mirror—just in time to see how Ursula was looking at her with an odd mix of concern and confusion, completely unaware that Pippa was watching her reflection. Pippa felt a pang of guilt, but it was quickly replaced with a wave of determination. _Good_. Ursula was finally understanding what she’d put others through, countless times.

Rehearsal ended without any further odd moments, and Pippa chatted with Gwen for a moment before heading over to grab her bag from underneath one of the wooden chairs. She felt another wash of sympathy as she noticed Ursula sitting down, frowning over her phone.

It wasn’t a frown, exactly. More a…look of pain.

“Everything OK?” Pippa couldn’t help but ask, crouching down to grab her bag.

Ursula blinked quickly, trying to seem nonchalant and failing miserably. “Oh, um—yeah, everything’s fine. Just…”

She held up her phone, wrist slowly wilting as if the thing weighed a ton. Her surety wilted as well.

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Pippa reminded her.

“I know, I just…I’m not sure you’d want to know,” Ursula admitted quietly.

Dammit, any resolve Pippa had over being less friendly towards the woman was gone. She looked so damn pitiful, with those deep blue eyes.

“Of course I want to know,” Pippa assured her. Though given how distant she’d been over the past two weeks, she understood why Ursula had hesitated.

“It’s stupid, really,” Ursula hedged, gaze sliding away from Pippa’s. For once, Pippa didn’t feel irritated at her hesitation—she was keenly aware of just how uncomfortable Ursula was, in this moment. Whatever the matter was, the woman genuinely felt as if her problems were stupid—and Pippa knew it was a short path to Ursula thinking that _she_ was stupid herself.

“It’s not stupid if it matters to you,” Pippa returned gently. Ursula looked back up at her, brows lilting hopefully at the idea.

“It’s just…” Ursula gave another flop of her hand. “I still haven’t told my family. They think I’m off shopping and Esme’s wondering why she can’t come along. It’s…getting difficult.”

“Oh.” Was all Pippa could say. Really, she still didn’t understand the big deal, but for whatever reason, it _was_ a big deal to Ursula. Her own life was structured so that she never really had to consider anyone else when making decisions, so that was also outside her realm of understanding.

Ursula rose to her feet, gathering her things. “I told you it was ridiculous—”

“Look,” Pippa reached out, gently placing her hand on Ursula’s arm to stop her. “I can’t pretend that I can empathize with all of it—or even understand it, to be honest—but I don’t think it’s stupid or ridiculous or anything less than valid.”

“God, you sound like my therapist.” Ursula cringed slightly at her own tone, quickly correcting, “Not that it’s a bad thing—just, I must be pretty pitiful to bring up all the self-help talk.”

“No more pitiful than anyone else,” Pippa returned easily.

Ursula smiled, ducking her head as if Pippa had paid her a compliment. She shouldered her bag and slowly shifted towards the door, obviously waiting for Pippa to grab her things and walk with her, which Pippa did.

“So how are you gonna handle it?” Pippa asked, as they headed out the door.

“No clue,” Ursula admitted. “Part of me is hoping I can just…ignore it and hopefully they will, too.”

“Ursula, we’re five weeks out. Our rehearsal schedule’s only gonna get more hectic. You’re going to have to cover larger gaps—”

“That’s not even the hardest part,” Ursula shook her head. “My husband wants us to join another family for vacation, at the end of the month. Of course, I can’t go—but I can’t tell him why—”

“Why not?” Pippa asked the question that had been burning in her mind for weeks now. “I mean, hasn’t he already noticed by now…”

She vaguely gestured to Ursula’s body. Ursula blushed at that. But it was true—they’d both lost weight, both rebuilt muscle from the rehearsals and their own individual workout schedules.

Ursula’s blush deepened as she ducked her head. She certainly wasn’t going to tell the woman that she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had sex with her husband. Instead, she simply said, “If he has noticed, he hasn’t said anything.”

They entered the stairwell, their steps reverberating in comforting sync. Ursula could feel Pippa’s curiosity, could feel the woman brimming with a half-dozen follow-up questions, though surprisingly, she didn’t voice them. Ursula wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She didn’t have anyone else with whom she could discuss this particular situation—over the past few weeks she’d come to the painful realization that she didn’t really have any close friends at all. Sure, she’d mentioned it to her therapist, who never really gave her opinion on such matters because she was a professional. Ursula was practically bursting with the need to talk it over with someone—someone who actually understood.

So she took a shaky breath and added, “To top it all off, you have to add the fact that it is a bit of a secret, which I’ve kept from him for twenty years. I never told him about any of it—he doesn’t know about Esper or the Hipsnotic Sisters at all.”

They reached the first floor, and Pippa gave a small hum as she recapped, “So, you need to tell him about the show—but to do that, you have to basically confess to a secret past life that you failed to mention for twenty years.”

“Yep,” Ursula gave a heavy sigh.

“Sounds like it’s a pretty fucked up situation all around.” Pippa admitted.

Surprisingly, Ursula laughed at that. And she kept laughing as they rounded the corner into the corridor. Pippa, although amused, was beginning to get concerned. The woman seemed to be unhinged at this point.

“It really is,” Ursula agreed, shaking her head with a wry smile. “It’s an absolutely fucked up situation.”

By the time they reached the foyer, Ursula felt her feet slowing, hesitating—she wanted to stay here, just a little longer, in this moment when she felt seen and heard, in this moment where things outside still sucked epically but Pippa was here, commiserating with her.

“Want to try unfucking it, over a pint?” Pippa suggested. Her tone was light, but there was tension around her eyes, in the smile lines around her mouth.

“I can’t,” Ursula’s stomach sank. They’d just finally gotten back to a good place—a better place than they’d ever been, perhaps, and here she was, ruining it (again). Quickly, she added, “But—maybe tomorrow? The girls will be off at their ballet workshop—we could do lunch, maybe?”

She was so hopeful. So desperate to bridge the gap. Pippa felt like something had finally clicked. She nodded, “I can be free for lunch.”

“Good,” Ursula nodded, smiling slightly as she turned to go again.

Pippa followed her out, giving a light wave as they parted ways. “See ya tomorrow, Mrs. Hallow.”

For some reason, the stuffy title usage made Ursula grin. She merely waved and made her way to her car. Her phone buzzed with another text from Esme. This time, it didn’t set off a chain reaction of guilt and fear.

She didn’t have an answer yet. But Pippa would help her find one. She didn’t know why she felt such faith in the woman, but she did. This was good. A step in the right direction. She started the car and smiled. For the first time in weeks, she felt like there was a hope on the horizon.

* * *

“Oh, a blind man could see what’s happening,” Algie agreed, adding a liberal dash of oregano to the tomato sauce simmering on the stove. It was a typical Sunday evening in the Rowan-Webb-Bat house—he was making his famous pasta bake, whilst Millie set the table. Gwen was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and occasionally helping, though time had repeatedly proven that her skills and talents lay decidedly _outside_ the culinary realm. But she had tossed a lovely salad and was currently providing interesting conversation.

Last week, she’d told him that there was something brewing between Ada Cackle and Hecate Hardbroom. An odd pairing, Algie had thought, but he’d seen odder. This week, he’d paid closer attention to the two women, whenever he’d popped in to watch the rehearsals for a few minutes. He’d immediately realized that his wife was right—there _was_ something between the two, to the point of being blindingly obvious.

Gwen didn’t outright say _I told you so_ , but her amused hum and knowingly arched brow said it well enough. Algie laughed silently at his wife’s nonverbal snark, shaking his head and a little more garlic salt into the sauce.

“It’ll be too salty,” Gwen pointed out, idly.

“As if you would know,” he returned just as easily. His wife shrugged, not disagreeing but not totally ready to agree, either. It only deepened his smile. He switched back to the original topic, “You think anything’ll actually happen?”

Gwen squinted, as if considering a great philosophical question, “Too soon to say, I think. But I hope so. They’d make a good match.”

“Who would?” Millie popped back into the kitchen, eyes sparkling with curiosity. It was evident that she’d overheard a fair bit from the dining room.

“Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom,” Algie informed her without skipping a beat. There were very few things they kept from the girl.

“Which Miss Cackle?”

“Ada,” Gwen clarified. She took a beat to point at Mildred, an unspoken command: _You know the rules. The details of this conversation do not leave this house_.

Mildred nodded in understanding. She felt a measure of relief—she liked Ada, who always offered Millie and her friends lemon drops, always smiled and said hello when she saw them. Not every performer deigned to acknowledge the children, especially not in a way that made them feel like equals or at least welcome.

“I think they’d make a good match, too,” she agreed seriously (not noticing the secret little smile Algie and Gwen exchanged at her adult-like tone). “They’re both nice.”

“Are they now?” Algie’s tone was wry with amusement. “I thought you didn’t like Miss Hardbroom.”

There had been an incident with the microwave during Millie’s first week at the Amethyst Academy. Millie hadn’t exactly been thrilled by Miss Hardbroom’s reaction. In fact, the entire first week had been Millie coming home to complain about something else Miss Hardbroom had said or done. She was now about to start her fourth week of the workshop, and Algie and Gwen had already noticed how much less she’d complained about the ballet instructor.

“She’s tough but…she’s not mean,” Millie admitted. “And she had a point, in the end. The break room still smells like burnt fish.”

Gwen chuckled at that, “I’m afraid you’ve inherited my cooking skills, love dove.”

“As if one of you wasn’t enough,” Algie muttered, intentionally loud enough to be heard by the others.

“Watch it, broom boy,” she warned. He grinned at the moniker—that had been one of her earliest nicknames for him (if not the very first one altogether). When he’d first joined the theatre as a stagehand, he’d been too inexperienced to run rigging or manage the lights, so he’d been relegated to the only task he could do: sweeping the stage. Somehow it simultaneously seemed like just yesterday and an entire lifetime ago.

Millie watched the exchange with a bright grin. Then, she asked the question that had been bubbling in her mind like a cauldron, “How can you tell? I mean, with Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom. How can you tell when there’s something?”

“It’s in the eyes,” Algie turned to fully look at her, tapping the corner of his own eye.

“They are the window to the soul,” Gwen pointed out, smiling sweetly. “Sometimes two people just look at each other, and everyone around them can just…see it. See the connection.”

“Like those little emoticons you kids use,” Algie added.

“Emojis,” Millie corrected him.

“Whatever. The one with the heart eyes. People kinda get those, ya know.”

Millie considered the idea for a moment. It was true. She could see there was always something softer in the way Algie and Gwen looked at each other. Not for the first time, she wished her mum had something like this—someone to tease and bicker with, someone who loved her and made her smile the way Algie’s silly jokes made Gwen, someone who turned her into the little heart-eyed emoji, who looked right back at her with heart eyes, too.

As if on cue, the front door rattled and Julie’s voice rang out, “Smells absolutely divine in here, Algie!”

She appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later, giving Millie a hug and a quick peck on the forehead.

“Hiya, love. Set the table all on your own?” She guessed. She’d walked through the dining room to reach the kitchen, so she’d already seen Mildred’s endeavors.

“Yep.”

“You mixed up the order of the silverware again,” Julie informed her. She squeezed her daughter close, “But you’re cute, so I guess we’ll keep you.”

Mildred rolled her eyes, but she still snuggled into her mum’s embrace. “Nobody cares about that stuff anymore, Mum. It’s pointless.”

“Gwen, I’ll let you handle this one,” Julie stepped back with a grin, heading to the fridge to grab a mineral water. Algie had already sliced lemons for her, which were waiting patiently on the cutting board.

“Young lady,” Gwen began, pulling herself up to her full height and assuming a far stuffier air. “There are some skill-sets that will never go out of use—and just because _some_ people aren’t still learning them doesn’t mean _you_ shouldn’t. A well-rounded—”

“I’ll change the forks!” Millie threw up her hands in surrender, rolling her eyes as she headed back to the dining room.

“Expertly handled, as always,” Julie raised her glass in toast.

“With age comes wisdom,” Gwen intoned gravely.

Julie hummed in amused agreement before setting down her water and helping Algie finish prepping his dish for the oven.

“The last of the billboards went up this weekend,” Julie announced.

“Lovely. But no more work talk,” Gwen informed her with a smile. “How are things?”

Julie’s eyes flicked to the kitchen doorway, wary of Millie’s presence in the next room. “Things are good. Very good. Feeling a bit too good to be true, to be honest.”

While Gwen and Algie generally were open and honest with Mildred on all things, they’d agreed to Julie’s wish that Millie should remain unaware of her developing relationship with Dimity Drill until the time was right.

“But it _is_ true,” Algie pointed out with a grin. He wrapped his arm around Julie’s shoulder, gently reminding her, “Don’t let that impressive, over-analyzing brain of yours worry yourself into the very reality you’re trying to prevent.”

“That’s just my brain, Algie. It can’t _not_ over-analyze.” Julie’s exasperation was mainly feigned.

Mildred re-entered the kitchen, “Silverware had been properly re-ordered, for the only two people in the world who care.”

“There are three of us,” Julie motioned around the room.

“Nah, I’m with Mils on this one,” Algie admitted. Mildred beamed in knowing delight. Obviously they’d had this discussion before. “Fork’s a fork, love. As long as it gets food to your mouth, shouldn’t matter what size or order.”

“Philistines,” Gwen moaned. “We are surrounded by Philistines.”

“We’re pragmatists,” Mildred corrected her.

“Look at you, with the big words,” Julie feigned surprise. Mildred grinned. She’d overheard Miss Hardbroom use the word, in conversation with Miss Drill. She’d loved the way it sounded, clipped and arched in Miss Hardbroom’s usual stuffy tone, and she’d secretly been waiting for a chance to use it herself.

Yes, she didn’t much like Miss Hardbroom in the beginning, with her yelling and her lack of patience. She was still a bit scary, to be honest—even though Mildred wasn’t in the ballet workshop, she could hear the woman’s sharp tones over the music and across the hallway. But Mildred had quickly realized that none of the other girls at the academy really disliked her, either. She was tough, but fair, in her own way. She pushed them, but never beyond what they could actually handle. And when she thought no one was looking, she was quite kind. Miss Hardbroom the Ballet Mistress was just a character she played, Millie had realized. She was entirely different at burlesque rehearsals, or in moments with Miss Drill, speaking quietly in the hallway when she thought the other students couldn’t overhear.

She really hoped the thing with Miss Cackle was real. Ada and Agatha’s rehearsal schedule was the least predictable of the group, which meant sometimes they came in on weekends or during the late afternoon on weekdays, when Millie was around. Agatha hadn’t paid Millie any mind, but Ada always took the time to ask how Millie was doing, and how she was getting along with whatever art project she’d been working on, the last time they’d spoken. Once, she’d even cheered Millie up a bit, over some issues she was having at the Amethyst Academy with Ethel Hallow, who for some reason had decided that she didn’t like Mildred from the start. Ethel was taking the ballet workshop, which meant they didn’t have classes together, but she still said snarky things about Mildred during their mutual breaks, still found ways to make her feel odd and set apart from the others.

Ada had noticed Mildred’s lowered spirits, had offered a lemon drop and quietly listened to Millie’s problems. She’d been late to her own rehearsal because of it. Mildred wouldn’t forget that.

She decided that next week, she’d have to spy on them as well. See if she could see what Algie and Gwen saw. And maybe, just maybe, she could return Ada’s favor by helping them out. Sometimes adults got weird about those kinds of things, wouldn’t say the things they wanted to say—the things they needed to say.

Millie could help with that, if need be. It was the least she could do.

* * *

Hecate had already cancelled on axe-throwing for the evening, citing that she must have slept oddly the night before, because her neck and left shoulder were feeling out of whack. She wasn’t going to jeopardize range of movement further by hurling axes all evening.

Still, for some reason, her front door was bursting open and Dimity Drill was barreling through, a pastry box in her hands and Arcana perched on her shoulder like a parrot.

“Knock, knock, bitch,” she announced, closing the door with her foot.

Morgana chirped and bolted over to Dimity’s feet, looking up expectantly. Arcana easily landed beside her and they were off in a flash, two streaks of darkness.

“I said I’m not going out tonight,” Hecate reminded her.

“And we’re not,” Dimity assured her. She held up the pastry box. “I hit the Cuban bakery on the way.”

“Wise woman. You knew I wouldn’t turn you away if you came bearing food.”

“I have my tricks,” Dimity agreed. She transferred the box from hand to hand as she shimmied out of her jacket, hanging it by the door as she slipped out of her shoes. Hecate didn’t rise from the couch, merely watching her with an idle air.

Hecate Hardbroom knew all of her friend’s tricks. And she knew that Dimity was well-aware of hers, too. Yes, she truly did have a wonky neck, but that wasn’t the entire reason for bailing on the night’s plans. It was just that time of year—she’d always try to withdraw a little, and Dimity would let her, up to a point. But somehow, Dimity seemed to always know when she needed comfort and company.

Case in point. Dimity gingerly padded over to the couch, setting the pastries between them and curling up on the opposite end as she watched Hecate with wary eyes. Hecate simply watched her in return, silently waiting.

“You going up to see her soon?” Dimity finally asked quietly.

Hecate nodded. Her gaze slid to just over Dimity’s shoulder, to one particular shelf on her bookcase. The photograph of two young girls, the little woven bracelet curled up in front of it. The little jar of seashells acting as a paperweight for a folded, tattered scrap of newspaper that she hadn’t actually opened or read in years. She couldn’t see it, but she knew the letter was still tucked behind the photograph, just as haunting and incriminating as always. “It’s her birthday, next week. I’m…doing the usual.”

Dimity nodded as well. _The usual_ was a day trip up to Indigo’s gravesite, bringing flowers and tending to the grave itself. Maybe going to the nearby beach afterwards, if she had the time and the energy.

“You want company?” Dimity asked. Sometimes Hecate preferred going alone, sometimes it was better to have someone with her. To keep her from tumbling too far over the edge.

“I don’t know yet,” Hecate admitted. “I’m…still not sure how bad it’s going to be.”

Again, Dimity understood. Some years the grief just wasn’t as sharp, as present. Some years, it felt as raw and aching as it had in the beginning. She got that way about her mum.

“Well, I’ll be on standby,” Dimity assured her. Hecate smiled softly in unspoken gratitude. Then she ducked her head and began rummaging through the pastries, handing Dimity her favorite as she took one for herself. Dimity took the slight pause to change the topic, “So, what are your grand plans for the evening?”

“Disassociate, stare at the wall until an ungodly late hour, then go to bed,” Hecate deadpanned, taking a bite of her cheese roll. It was fashioned as a joke, but Dimity knew it held a hint of truth.

“Yeah, we’re watching an action movie instead,” Dimity rose to her feet again, walking over to the TV to grab the remote. Hecate groaned at the pronouncement. “Look, lady, I sat through the documentary on twentieth century fashion changes due to the first world war _without complaint_ last time. You can certainly allow yourself to enjoy a little mindless distraction.”

Hecate rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t argue the point. Dimity sat back down, easily scrolling through options until she found a movie that looked like something Hecate would enjoy, even if she’d die before admitting it.

The cats heard the sound of the telly and immediately reappeared. They curled up on the couch beside Hecate, purring contentedly as they wrapped around each other and began to doze off. Dimity grinned—Hecate had once explained how cats imitated the behaviors of their humans as part of a pack bonding impulse. Arcana and Morgana couldn’t care less about watching a movie, but they understood this was the time when their owners stayed on the couch, together, so they joined in. It was kinda cute, Dimity thought—their own weird little pride, piled up on the couch. It nearly a damn Rockwell painting.

Hecate was adjusting, setting the pastry box on the coffee table and laying down to rest her head on the decorative pillow at the other end of the couch, curling the two half-asleep felines into her chest. Her toes did a little happy wiggle and Dimity smiled. Yep, this was exactly what the doctor ordered. Dimity reached over the arm of the couch, grabbing a blanket from the wire basket. She kept some of the blanket for herself, gingerly tossing the other end over Hecate’s legs. Then she settled further into the couch cushions, reaching out to scratch her nails across the top of the blanket. The noise drew Morgana’s attention, and Dimity felt an unholy measure of delight at the fact that the cat abandoned her mistress to delicately trot to the other side and into Dimity’s lap.

The next time Dimity glanced over, Hecate and Arcana were fast asleep, despite the octane-fueled soundtrack and screeching tires and explosions. Dimity smiled at the predictability. It might be a tough time of year for her bestie, but some parts of her never changed.

She reached over to lightly pat the top of Hecate’s foot through the blanket. Then she went back to her movie. She thought back to seven years ago, when she'd broken up with Caroline, her long-time partner. She’d been a bit of a wreck. Even though it had been her decision to end things, it still had spiraled her into questioning her entire life. Hecate had been a friend at that point, though not nearly as close as she was now. She'd shown up one night with a large pizza and a few bottles of wine, breezing into Dimity’s slightly-dodgy new rental with her usual air of presumption. _Right. So we’ll eat and get drunk for approximately forty-five minutes. Then we’ll start unpacking. You'll feel better once you’re physically settled._

And she'd been right. They'd been tipsy by the time they started unpacking, giggling and occasionally making stupid puns as they slowly but surely emptied box after box of Dimity’s life. By the end of the night, the sad little flat looked homier and happier, and Dimity’s heart didn’t ache as much.

She hadn’t been alone, and Hecate had reminded her of that. Over the years, she’d repeated that reminder—and Dimity had returned the favor as well, like tonight.

The movie ended and Hecate stirred awake.

“You should really see a doctor about that snore,” Dimity informed her.

“You should fuck off,” Hecate returned just as easily. She stretched, her feet pushing against Dimity’s hip.

“Jesus! Your toes are frozen,” Dimity scooted further away, dislodging a disgruntled Morgana as she did so.

“Much like my heart,” Hecate deadpanned. She was sitting up now, pulling her legs back under her. Arcana had shifted as well, gingerly climbing back into Hecate’s lap. With a sleepy blink, she asked, “Did the guy…successfully steal the thing?”

“Wasn’t a heist movie, love.”

“Oh, well. I had a fifty-fifty chance, given your usual choice in films,” Hecate gave a careless shrug. She was looking rather mournfully at the pastry box, which was just out of reach.

“No more for you,” Dimity informed her. “These are for the people who actually stayed awake and _watched_ the movie.”

Hecate pouted at that.

“Besides, you should probably eat a vegetable at some point.”

“Had a salad this afternoon, thank you very much.”

“Still not the recommended daily serving.”

“What are you, my nutritionist?”

“Just trying to keep you in fighting shape.”

Hecate harrumphed. “I can take you any day of the week, Drill.”

“Yeah, sure ya can,” Dimity pushed her voice into a patronizing tone as she rose to her feet, grabbing the pastry box with a flourish. She made a kissing sound, trying to call Arcana to her. The traitorous feline merely stared at her, still happily installed in Hecate’s lap. “Whatever. You can stay here, you disloyal hoe.”

Hecate laughed softly at that. She scooped Arcana in her arms and rose to follow Dimity to the door. They said their goodbyes and Hecate locked the series of deadbolts as soon as Dimity was gone.

She glanced back at the bookshelf. This should have been her life with Indigo. Sisters against the world. Not that she didn’t love Dimity or all the good that she brought to Hecate’s life. It was just…sometimes it only reminded her of all the ways Indigo should still be here, doing the same thing.

With a heavy sigh, she headed to her room, feeling a measure of comfort at the sound of Morgana padding along behind her. She repeated the mantra as she brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, lulling herself to sleep with the familiar refrain: _It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault._


	12. Act 2, Scene 6: And Sometimes, There's Ice Cream

Pippa tried not to grin when Ursula entered the bar of The Harrisbury Hotel, clad in her usual skirt and twinset look. For the past few weeks, they’d only seen each other at rehearsals, which meant Pippa had seen a whole new side of Ursula’s wardrobe. There was something comforting, almost nostalgic, about seeing her back in uniform, as it were.

Ursula made a quick little wave of acknowledgement to Pippa, seated at a table by the window, before making a beeline for the bar. Within a few minutes, she was clutching a gin and tonic as she slid into the seat across from Pippa. “You’re gonna want a few of these, too, before trying to solve the mess that is currently my life.”

Pippa smiled wryly at that, deciding not to linger on how thinly veiled the joke truly was.

“So,” Ursula set her glass down with a definitive thud. “Ask your questions, Pentangle, ‘cause I know you’ve got ‘em.”

“Fine. Why didn’t you ever tell Charles about the Hipsnotic Sisters?”

“It honestly just…never came up.” Ursula shrugged. “At first, I think I wanted…distance, from everything. But really, there just wasn’t ever a conversation that warranted mentioning something from that time in my life.”

“Not even when you hired me are your daughters’ voice instructor?” Pippa’s tone was nonchalant, unaffected. But Ursula could see the slight tinge of hurt around her eyes. She should feel badly, she knew—but more than anything, she felt surprised _. Pippa cares._

“Well, by then, I was neck-deep in the whole mother-wife-perfect-life bit, wasn’t I? It seemed like an even more inopportune time to bring something like that up, especially after all that time had passed.”

“Did you think Charles wouldn’t approve?” Pippa was confused. “Or, I guess…do you _still_ think he wouldn’t?”

Ursula frowned, shaking her head, “No, no, not at all. He’s always been terribly understanding, to the point one would think…”

She stopped herself. Her therapist had told her time and again about the power of crafting her own narrative. She shook her head again, as if banishing the rest of her thought. _No. Don’t project your own fears onto someone else’s actions._

“It’s not that,” she reiterated. She focused her gaze out the window. A silence fell over the table, but not an uncomfortable one. Pippa, for once, was patient, waiting for Ursula to find her next thought.

Finally, she did, “I guess, I just wanted something that was mine. Something…not really secret, but set apart. I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make sense—”

“No, it does,” Pippa assured her gently. Then, taking an uneasy breath, she ventured, “I mean, I understand the path you chose, I just…don’t understand why you chose it.”

Ursula took a long draught of her drink. The gin made her grimace. “Honestly, I don’t know why, either.”

It was one of the many reasons she was in therapy. She just…committed to decisions without really knowing why she did it. She considered herself a fairly intelligent individual, but when it came to her own psyche, she was completely ignorant of its motivations and workings. Not for lack of trying to understand, mind you.

She shook her head, feeling the familiar self-loathing bubbling in her veins. “And now it’s even worse. Before, it was just…an omission. Now I’m _actively_ lying about it.”

“And _that’s_ the issue.” Pippa reiterated.

“That’s the issue,” she echoed in agreement.

Pippa took a moment to simply size Ursula up. She could tell that Ursula had mentally beat herself up over the situation for quite some time. The woman was still an absolute enigma, but she was being more transparent than Pippa had ever seen. It seemed like some kind of chance, Pippa thought. A way to mend fences, to perhaps even move beyond what they were before.

There was the added fact that Ursula was in a rather pitiful state, and Pippa had always been one to take in wounded strays. She tapped a light pink fingernail on the tabletop, “OK, say you tell Charles. Worst case scenario, what happens?”

Ursula considered the question for a beat. “I don’t think he’d be angry. He’s just not the type. But…still upset? He’d be upset that I kept something from him—really, it’d be more about the fact that I felt I _needed_ to keep something from him.”

Pippa’s expression scrunched in sympathy. From what little she’d seen and heard of the Hallows’ relationship, it sounded a bit enviable. Charles seemed doting and understanding—even Ursula’s current quandary still echoed the tenderness and concern between them.

“And the longer I wait, the worse it’s going to be,” Ursula gave a helpless flutter of her hand. “We’ve already gone almost three months without me telling him. The bloody show’s less than a month away.”

“And you’ve got that vacation—”

“ _And_ I’ve got that bloody fucking vacation,” Ursula shook her head with a frustrated vehemence. “With the Amesons, who are barely tolerable at parties as it is.”

“Why even consider their offer, then?”

“Because,” Ursula sighed. “That’s the way of things. Our kids get along and Charles works with the wife and it’s…just what you do.”

Not for the first time, Pippa Pentangle was extremely grateful for her singledom.

Ursula gave a long sigh, closing her eyes lightly. “There’s no magical get out of jail free card, is there? I have to tell him.”

Pippa shrugged, even though she knew the answer. “I’ve never had to deal with those kinds of things.”

She deftly steered them back to the purpose of their meeting, “So worst case scenario: Charles is upset that you felt the need to lie. Best case scenario?”

“He understands and supports the endeavor,” Ursula answered easily.

“Which one’s likelier, in reality?”

“A little bit of both?” Ursula wriggled her hand, indicating a fifty-fifty split. Pippa hummed in understanding.

“And what about the girls?”

Ursula paused at that. “I…don’t know. I’m not—it’s not about being ashamed. It’s just…it would change how they see me, I think, and…I’m not sure it would be positive.”

“They’ll see their mother doing something she enjoys, something for herself, having a life outside of her husband and children.” Pippa cocked her head to the side, “Isn’t that a positive thing?”

“It’s not—I’m just not sure I want them seeing me have that…with you,” Ursula knew it was a mistake, even as the words were leaving her mouth.

Pippa sat up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not what you think it means,” Ursula cut her off quickly. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How, exactly, _should_ I take it?”

Ursula propped her elbow on the table, cupping her forehead in her hand. “I just meant that you’re also someone they know in a very specific context. They’d have to…reformat.”

“They may be children, but they’re more flexible in their thinking than you give them credit for,” Pippa informed her.

“Oh, and you, being the mother of exactly _zero_ children, understand _my_ own daughters better than I do?” Ursula looked back up with a snap.

Pippa blinked as if she’d been slapped. Ursula realized that she’d crossed a line.

She wanted to apologize. But the words stuck to the tip of her tongue, gluing it to the roof of her mouth.

Finally, Pippa spoke, dipping her head, “I’m trying to help you.”

“I know,” Ursula closed her eyes for a brief moment. The soft sadness in Pippa’s tone made her throat tighten in guilt. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m just…sorry.”

Pippa merely nodded. She cleared her throat, glanced away for a moment. After a tense, awful pause, she admitted, “I understand what you’re saying, about the girls. I just think…it’s a chance worth taking.”

_Don’t you get it?_ Ursula wanted to screech. _I’m not built for taking chances_.

“Maybe,” she took a deep breath. “We just…take it one step at a time. I’ll talk to Charles, and then he and I will discuss whether or not the girls should know.”

Pippa nodded quickly. Ursula still felt queasy, like something potentially good between them had been broken.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “About before—I shouldn’t have—”

“But you did and now it’s done,” Pippa cut her off with a quick flick of her hand. The dismissiveness of the gesture struck Ursula as squarely as an actual physical blow. Then Pippa sighed, looking out the window again as she crossed her arms over her chest. Almost idly, she wondered aloud, “Do you think there’s ever going to be a time that we can have a single interaction that doesn’t end with one of us getting our feelings hurt?”

“Probably not,” Ursula admitted. Surprisingly, Pippa smirked at that. Ursula cleared her throat and quietly added, “I’m not…good with people. It’s just a personality thing, I think. It’s not your fault. It just…is what it is.”

Pippa turned back to her with curious eyes, “I don’t remember it being like this, in the old days. We weren’t close, I know, but…we didn’t have issues, as far as I remember.”

She was watching Ursula closely now, waiting for some kind of response.

“I suppose we didn’t,” Ursula agreed. “But we also didn’t really speak outside of rehearsals. I was just so terrified—”

“Of what?”

“Of…you. And Hecate. You both were so…determined. And…definitive. You both knew what you wanted, who you were. I was just drifting. That kind of certainty can be paralyzing, when it’s something you’ve never known.”

Pippa was watching her with a mystified expression. With a single shake of her head, she confessed, “I never would have pegged you as someone who didn’t know exactly what you wanted, Ursula Hallow.”

“I guess I hide it well.”

“Extremely well.”

“At least I have _something_ going for me,” Ursula said wryly, draining the last of her gin and tonic. “Granted, that’s probably actually a _bad_ thing—”

“We’ll count it as a win anyways,” Pippa decided. With a wry smirk of her own, she added, “Though you’ve definitely overcome your terror to speak your mind these days.”

Somehow, it didn’t feel like a condemnation, Ursula realized. Still, she felt the need to say again, “I really am sorry.”

“Great. Then you really are forgiven. Just let it go,” Pippa made a fluttering motion with her hand. “Now, let’s get another round of drinks, order some lunch, and spend the rest of the time _not_ angsting over our lives.”

“ _My_ life,” Ursula pointed out. “Yours seems particularly angst-free.”

Pippa shrugged, “We all have our crosses to bear.”

Ursula would have pursued the question further, but Pippa had just asked not to discuss it, so she tried to change the subject, “So…what do we talk about?”

Pippa blinked. “I…um...read any good books lately?”

Ursula surprised herself by laughing, feeling some measure of comfort in knowing that Pippa felt just as lost as she did. Pippa was smiling too as she hailed down a waiter, asking for another round of drinks and two lunch menus. Ursula realized that Pippa must have already spoken with the waiter before she’d arrived. She must have feared Ursula would bolt early, or thought perhaps she wouldn’t want to stay long herself, since she’d delayed the menus. Ursula tried not to read too much into the detail. _Stop projecting, Hallow._

“Personally,” Pippa returned to their previous conversation. “I love the series by—oh, that Scandinavian fellow. The really grisly ones. My ex got me turned onto them. It was about the only good thing she brought to my life, truth be told.”

_She_. Ursula knew her eyes widened enough to be noticeable. She even blushed a little (blush, why did she _blush_ , it wasn’t as if she didn’t know plenty of lesbians—hell, Sybil’s best friend had two mums, whom she happened to like quite a lot). She recovered with a soft, “I don’t really read a lot these days. At least nothing fun or fascinating. Lots of expense reports, spending analyses, that sort of thing.”

Pippa’s face was scrunched in that adorably confused expression again. Ursula explained, “I volunteer for an educational oversight committee. We ensure funding is being used to the best and fullest extent for local schools. And we help raise funds, when need be—and help push for legislation focusing on educational reforms.”

“How did I not know this about you?” Pippa wondered aloud.

“Because we used to speak for less than fifteen minutes total per year, and only about my daughters’ vocal abilities?” Ursula guessed, with just a touch of snark.

“At least that explains the twinsets,” Pippa motioned to Ursula’s wardrobe.

“What?” Ursula looked down at her clothes. “It’s just—that’s just how I dress, Pippa. We can’t all—”

She stopped herself, though her hand had still already shot out, motioning to Pippa’s clothing choice, a baby pink knit dress which left no curve to the imagination.

“You were going to say something derogatory about my outfit, weren’t you?” Pippa crossed her arms over her chest again.

“But I didn’t,” Ursula pointed out.

“There may be hope for us yet.” Pippa gave a small lopsided smile, and Ursula felt herself smiling in return. The vocal instructor raised her glass in toast, “To hope.”

“To hope,” Ursula echoed, clinking her drink against Pippa’s.

They each took a sip. Pippa set her glass down, “Seriously, what were you going to say?”

Ursula hedged, but those big brown eyes were locked onto her, the determination in them plain as day. She confessed, “That we can’t all dress like secretaries in some cheesy porno.”

Pippa guffawed at that, slapping a hand over her mouth to try and smother her laughter. Ursula felt a wash of surprised delight at her reaction.

“That was actually quite good,” Pippa was still giggling, lightly dabbing under her eyes to keep her mascara from running. “Though I’d like to think I could be a secretary in a very nice, posh porno.”

“I don’t think those types exist,” Ursula informed her. Pippa laughed in agreement again.

Their salads arrived and Pippa warmly thanked the waiter with her usual winning smile.

“So,” Pippa speared some spinach with her fork. “Tell me all the hot goss about the education committee—and don’t pretend there isn’t any, Hallow. Remember, I work for the school system, too. I know how petty and insular it can be.”

Ursula couldn’t deny that. So instead, she merely nodded as she wracked her brain for the best bit to share.

In the end, lunch lasted two hours. By the time they left (taking a quick tour of the hotel lobby because Pippa adored the murals painted across all the walls), Ursula had practically forgotten their actual reason for meeting in the first place—at least until they reached the sidewalk and Pippa reached out to lightly clasp Ursula’s forearm and gently remind her, “It’s all going to be alright.”

“It is,” Ursula agreed with a quick nod. And for perhaps the first time ever, she believed it.

* * *

For perhaps the first time ever, Julie Hubble got the distinct sensation that Dimity Drill was lying to her. Her voice sounded too tight, too unnatural. They’d had plans to go out to dinner that evening, since Millie was having a sleepover with Enid and Maud at the Nightshades'. But Dimity was now calling to say that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

“Well, if you’re feeling ill, I could come over and make soup or something,” Julie suggested, trying not to sound too desperate. The summer hoop course was officially over, which meant so was Julie’s excuse to see the woman for at least a few minutes each day. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to rely on simply being able to see that smile in-person.

“No, no—I don’t want to risk it, just in case I’m contagious,” Dimity quickly returned. “I’d feel awful if I got you or Millie sick.”

Thoughtful. But still false-sounding. Too much panic in her voice. Julie didn’t call her out on it, though. Instead, she merely said, “Alright then, but you have to promise you’ll take good care of yourself.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n.” There was a grin in Dimity’s voice. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Julie echoed, unable to control the worry and longing that slipping into her tone. She hung up, unable to shake the feeling that she’d just been lied to.

* * *

Dimity sighed and glanced out the car window again. The cemetery was sprawling, and Indigo’s grave was somewhere on the other side of the hill—she’d never been to the graveside, even though this was the third time she’d come out here with Hecate.

Her best friend had text her, early that morning. _I think I do need you._

Dimity couldn’t refuse. So she’d gotten ready and arrived at Hecate’s flat forty-five minutes later, muffins from Hecate’s favorite bakery in tow. They’d hit the road, making the three-hour drive in relative silence, which was occasionally broken by Hecate sharing some story about her half-sister.

They’d known each other for over a decade. Dimity hadn’t learned about Indigo until six years ago. Even now, she really didn’t know that much. She knew the odd story or two from Hecate’s childhood. Hecate and Indigo had been Irish twins, different fathers but the same mother. Around Hecate’s thirteenth birthday—which in turn would have been around Indigo’s twelfth—something happened, and the girls were put into the care system, eventually being split up. By the time Hecate had the resources to find her sister again, it was too late. Indigo was already gone, buried by the state in an unmarked grave. Hecate had paid to have her exhumed and reburied here, close to a beach that had been one of the only vacations they’d ever taken, during their last summer together.

Dimity had been able to piece together the timeline well enough to know that Hecate first began withdrawing from the Hipsnotic Sisters around the time she’d found her biological sister—and that Pippa’s hosing incident had been right around the time of Indigo’s birthday. The first birthday since Hecate had learned that she was gone forever. Knowing Hecate, she’d probably reacted venomously, finally having some kind of excuse to exorcise the pain and grief that she couldn’t bring herself to share with anyone else.

Even now, even with all the closeness between her and Dimity, she still wasn’t able to truly share her grief. In a way, Dimity understood—grief was isolating. When her mother had passed away, she’d found herself shutting out her friends. Because how could they understand her loss? How could she translate it, how could she expect them to shoulder a burden they couldn’t comprehend?  She’d even hesitated around Hecate, whose own mother had died years before—because Hecate’s relationship with her mother was so different from Dimity’s, so foreign and unmatched. But Hecate had given her space when she needed it, and kept her company when she needed it, too. Dimity had been grateful for the way Hecate never tried to express trite sympathetic sayings or tell her it would all be OK. She simply agreed that life could be awful at times and let Dimity cry when she needed to, and made her laugh when she needed to. She’d kept Dimity hydrated and fed (food being Hecate Hardbroom’s love language, beyond all doubt), and hadn’t judged her when it took four days to muster the energy to shower.

Her own grief made Dimity understanding of the uniqueness of Hecate’s, too. She didn’t push or pry. She didn’t judge Hecate for always getting more snappish with the staff and students around this time of year, or for drinking more than usual. She didn’t complain about the three-hour drive, just to wait around in the car for a few hours and drive back again. She didn’t talk unless Hecate started the conversation. And she watched Hecate’s body language for her little tells. The woman never asked for comfort with words, but she’d sometimes stand closer, or perhaps turn in to Dimity, ever-so-slightly—that was her unspoken cry to be hugged or held or simply have her back rubbed in comforting camaraderie, a silent little _I know, life can be awful at times, I know, I’m here, I know._

Taking care of Hecate Hardbroom was a bit like raising a prized, exotic orchid, and Dimity Drill took pride in her ability to excel at something that so few could do.

Even if it meant lying to her girlfriend about where she was, because she didn’t feel right, telling Hecate’s story without her permission. She’d tell Julie one day—soon, hopefully, after all the angst surrounding this time of year had passed—but until then, she’d have to comfort herself with knowing that she was doing the right thing.

She pulled out the book she’d brought along and settled in to read. After an hour or so, a movement caught her eye—she looked up to see Hecate striding towards the car, the brown wrapping paper from the bouquet she’d brought along that morning balled up in her fist. She opened the driver side door, tossing the paper into the backseat before declaring, “We’re going to the beach. Ice cream.”

“Right,” Dimity nodded, as if that had been part of the plan all along. Dimity knew that sometimes, Hecate went to the beach after visiting Indigo, but she’d never done so when Dimity had accompanied her.

The little woven bracelet was peeking out from under Hecate’s shirt sleeve—the one usually resting on her bookshelf, next to the photograph of her and her sister. Another part of the ritual—she only wore it when she came to visit Indigo.

“There’s also a little chip shop on the boardwalk,” Hecate informed her.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dimity agreed to the unspoken question. “Might as well have lunch before we take the drive back.”

Hecate nodded. She sniffed, blinking rapidly as she turned the car in the direction of the beach. They drove in silence for a few minutes before she confessed, “I don’t know why it’s hit me so hard, this year.”

That was a lie. She knew exactly why. She’d seen that girl, almost two weeks ago at the axe pub. That girl who looked like Indigo—or what Indigo must have looked like, around the time of her death. Young and beautiful and full of life, full of promise.

Then there was Mildred Hubble, whose trademark pigtails and reckless, joyful nature had somehow reminded Hecate of herself, around that age. The girl’s innocence had made her ridiculously afraid—she somehow felt that at any moment, some awful tragedy would befall Mildred Hubble, somehow history would repeat itself, because it had to, didn’t it?

Her throat was too tight to swallow, and her breathing was shallow and ragged, like a sick cat's—she knew Dimity could hear her, could hear how difficult it was getting. She could feel the way her friend shifted beside her, concern radiating from every fiber of her body.

She pulled the car over abruptly, slamming into park as her hands skittered and fought with the seat belt, launching herself out of the car as soon as she was free. Standing up helped lessen the tightness in her chest, opened her windpipe just a little. She set her hands on her hips, trying to keep her shoulders up and ribcage open, to give her lungs as much space as possible.

She felt rather than heard the shift behind her. Then Dimity’s hand was on the small of her back, simply supporting her. She shook her head, fighting a new wave of tears at the small show of comfort.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She pushed the words out, still sounding a little breathless. Her throat was loosening, just a little.

“You’re human?” Dimity guessed. “And humans have emotions? Welcome to life on earth, babe.”

Hecate gave a slight huff of amusement at her friend’s snark. “Can always count on you to wrap me in tender compassion, Drill.”

“I do what I can.” There was a softness to Dimity’s words that only made Hecate’s eyes prick with tears anew.

Finally, Hecate took a deep breath, closing her eyes in relief at her lungs’ ability to actually fill with air again.

“You good?” Dimity guessed.

“I’m good.”

“Good. Let’s go get some ice cream.” Dimity gave a small pat of affection on Hecate’s lower back before heading back to the car. Hecate took another deep breath and followed.

She silently thanked her former self for reaching out and asking Dimity to come with her today. She’d needed her friend. Even earlier, when she’d sat at the gravesite, there was something that kept her held together, knowing that Dimity was patiently waiting in the car—she had to pull herself back, to come back for her friend.

Life was chaotic. And unjust. Hecate knew that, had learned that lesson in most excruciating detail. But she’d also learned that it didn’t have to be endured alone—and sometimes, there was ice cream.

_Life can’t ever be too bad, if there’s ice cream_ , Indie had once declared, licking up the side of her cone. She’d always taken too long to eat her ice cream, and it always was a melted mess before she finished, dripping down onto her knuckles, making her whole fist sticky. Hecate used to refuse to hold her hand afterwards. Indie, in typical little sister fashion, would simply run along behind her, trying to stick her sticky hand in Hecate’s hair, knowing it would piss her off beyond belief.

Hecate smiled at the memory, toying with the bracelet around her wrist. She’d eat her ice cream extra slowly today, in remembrance. And she’d try to be happy, to find joy in the smallest of moments. She’d cherish the life she’d been given, the life that had been denied to her sister. It was what Indigo would have wanted—and in the end, she owed her as much.


End file.
